The Log of the Great Corrupter

21 (Or So) Unsubtle Hints & Tips for Aspiring Authors

2011-03-14T21:09:00.000-07:00

Having just returned from another in-person event, it's time to share some long-overdue behavior tips for those enthusiastic aspiring authors out there who have unintentionally danced on my last nerve. I say all of what follows with love, because I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, that you don't intend to come across as horrible, grasping, remora-like vampires, trying to suck my brains, life and energy away so that you can steal it all for yourselves.

So, in an effort to help you redeem yourselves and come across as the lovely, witty, intelligent, fascinating and literary people that you actually are, I present the following:

1. My genuine interest in YOU does NOT translate into genuine interest in whatever it is you're writing. I'm not an agent.
1a. Nor do I want to BE an agent. Stop suggesting it, like you think that I'm going to have that light bulb moment and not only decide, on the spot, to become a literary agent, but that, as my first act, I'll sign you, right there. What a story we'll have to tell! No, actually, we won't. Because I don't want to be an agent. Because agents actually have to read your work, and, because I'm not one, I don't.
2. No, I really don't want to hear about the books you've written, are writing, or want to write. I barely want to hear about my fellow published authors' next epic tomes. I certainly don't want to hear about yours. When it's on the shelves and I can hold it in my hot little hands, then I'll want to read it, and not a moment before.
3. No, your idea is not unique. At all. It doesn't matter, because it's HOW you write it that will make or break you, but truly, no more sharing of the GREAT idea you have, because I lecture frequently (and so I hear this a lot) and if I have to bite on my tongue too much more, it's going to become unattached to my mouth.
4. Yes, I give great advice. It's why they asked me to attend and speak. Yes, I give it freely AT THE EVENT. No, my great advice is not yours for the asking at any time of the day or night. I have a crit group. You're not in it. If you were, I'd be rooming with you. Not rooming with you? Not in my crit group.
5. Yes, I'm a fun girl, with a nice rack, sparkling wit, and an easy way around men. No, I'm not wearing my wedding ring. Because I don't want to lose it and my husband is fully aware that if I were going to cheat on him, the only men who would be likely to score are major Hollywood actors and/or rock stars. Are you a major Hollywood actor or a rock star? No? Then stop hitting on me. It's not endearing, it's rarely as flattering as you think it is, and it causes those who are helping me to pass the "dangerous stalker alert" sign amongst themselves.
6. No, I don't want to be your mentor. Also, you suggesting it like it would be a GREAT opportunity for ME is both hilarious and annoying. I do mentor people. I CHOOSE who I mentor, of course. Carefully. Over time. Not at the drop of a hat. And I don't mentor strangers, which is what you are -- a stranger I've met at an event.
7. No, your meeting an agent and getting his or her card does NOT mean you now have representation. It really doesn't. It also doesn't mean said agent will remember you 10 seconds after you left his or her sight. It also doesn't impress ME that an agent talked to you. Agents talk to me all the time. One, in particular, usually to say, "Are you meeting your deadline?"
8. No, you don't get to know the name of my agent. However, if I slip up and mention it, should you actually contact my agent and pretend I referred you, I will hunt you down and torture you slowly. I have friends in all the places, particularly the low ones -- don't take the risk, you won't like the result.
9. You're thrilled I gave you such good advice freely and with enthusiasm? Awesome! Pay me back by buying my books. Immediately, if not sooner.
10. You got my contact info and have followed up after the event. Bully for you! This shows great initiative, I'm proud of you. However, if the FIRST SENTENCES in that email don't include the information that you've bought my books and are reading/have read them, truly, don't expect me to be excited about replying.
11. If you haven't bought or read my books, why do you want my help? Maybe, if you read my books, you'd think I was a literary genius, and therefore would prostrate yourself to get any additional words of my wisdom. Or maybe you'd think my writing sucked. However will you know unless you buy and read my books? What an adventure awaits you!
12. If you read my books and did not like them, we can surely remain cordial, perhaps even friends if we really hit it off (in MY mind as well as in yours), but please don't ask me for advice, because if you don't like my writing, then my how to's and so forth are unlikely to apply to you. (See how much time you'll save by buying and reading my books? I do it all for you. Truly.)
13. No one is interested in the plot of your books. Or your characters. We're really not interested in you monopolizing the conversation to tell us about the fabulousness that is your unpubbed manuscript that no one is buying. Trust me, we don't want to know about it. It's as boring as someone telling us their dream, only worse, because your book is longer.
14. Stop sharing your ideas with the world. Mostly because we don't care, but additionally because if you actually happen to have hit upon a GOOD one, we're gonna steal it. Sorry, but that's how creativity rolls. Want to ensure no one grabs that "great idea"? Keep it to yourself.
15. Other than buying my books, the greatest thing you can do for me is to buy me a drink. Doesn't even have to be alcoholic. But buy me a beverage. If I'm sipping, I'm a lot more interested in whoever I'm sitting with.
15a. Grabbing something that's being given out free and handing it to me like you "got" it for me is not the same thing as sitting down and buying me a drink. I may seem incredibly distracted at times, but trust me, I'm hyper-aware of some things, and that's one of them.
16. Am I talking to an actual fan? Someone holding my book, telling me how they loved my book, squealing with joy because they're meeting me, any combination thereof? Am I selling the wonders of my book to a potential new fan who hasn't had the joy of reading my unique wit yet? I am? Then stand aside and wait your turn. My fans come first. People who read and do not write come before aspiring authors. Why? Fans and readers are why I write. Other authors are who I hang out with when not writing.
16a. Are you a fan? Who also aspires to publication? Awesome, go to the head of the line. But still, remember, while I love you so much more than the others, you still need to learn the rules. Because it hurts me to not love one of my fans. And if you do all the don'ts, it will make me not want to love you. And that would make me very sad.
17. No matter what you did or didn't pay to attend, it's not all about you and your books. If you're asking questions, please remember that no one else in the room cares about whatever specific plot, writing, or publishing challenge you're having. Broad, general interest questions are great. Specifics to your current WIPs are not.
17a. Remember #15? There is no better way to score an author's undivided attention than to offer to buy them a drink. Preferably at a nice bar or coffee shop, where they can sit down and relax while chatting with you about your literary aspirations. Buy them a meal and they'll be happy to go over details with you.
18. Don't ask me to read your story. My answer will always be no. Sometimes it might be a very kind no, but not always. I'm busy writing my own books and reading my crit partner's books. I have no time for your books, and it's unlikely that I ever will. Plus, every author knows someone with the "they stole my idea!" horror story, and I refuse to go there.
18a. Don't tell me, while shoving your story that I don't want to read at me, that you know I'll enjoy it. I know I won't. How do I know? Because those writing stories I want to read don't need to shove their stuff at me. I'm usually emailing them, asking when their next book is out, dammit, and/or I'm buying their books at the event bookstore. Is your book coming out or at the bookstore? No? Then I don't want to read it.
18b. If I actually WANT to read your book, you'll know, because I'll suggest you send it to me. If I don't ask, please don't offer.
19. You can give me all your contact info, phone number included, but I'm not calling you (unless my car's broken down in your neighborhood). I'm not writing TO you, either. You can contact me (see #s 9-12 above), but I'm never going to initiate the conversation. I don't initiate the conversation to my mum, my mother-in-law, my cousin, my sisters-in-law, my closest girlfriends, or anyone else, really. I'm a terrible correspondent and a very busy girl. My friends and family are used to it. I initiate conversations with my husband, my daughter, my agent, my editor, and my crit partner. Are you one of them? No? Then don't count on me initiating with you.
20. Personal hygiene is your friend. Extra deodorant is always a good idea. So is mouthwash. So is dental floss. Ladies, this applies to you as well.
21. When I or another published author are speaking, particularly if we are answering a question of yours, or are making a comment about how to write and/or get published -- PARTICULARLY if we're leading a panel, teaching a class, are at the bar, or at dinner -- please shut the hell up and let us talk. That goes double if it's an editor or an agent speaking. You interrupting us to tell us how we're wrong, how we're right, about your book, about your characters, who you've subbed to, or to crack an inappropriate and/or unfunny joke does not endear you to any of us. No one likes a boor, those of us who know what that word means especially.
21a. The quickest way to make me regret speaking to you is to keep on talking to me when I want to listen to someone else. This is worse if we're in a presentation that someone else is doing. Exponentially worse if it's a presentation being done by someone I admire and/or happen to be friends with. Worse to infinity if I have to tell you more than once to hush up until the presentation is over.
21b. Silence is truly golden. Ask your question, shut up, let us talk, don't interrupt, laugh at the appropriate times, nod, take notes, etc., and you'll be amazed at how much we enjoy having you around.

There you have it. How to go from obnoxious to charming in 21 (or so) easy steps. Please memorize this list before my next in-person event. We'll both be happier if you do.

TGC

Movie Review: The A-Team

2010-06-15T15:19:00.000-07:00

Let me start by saying that I'm a huge fan of "The A-Team" TV show, so this is going to be part review and part comparison. Which, if you're making a movie from a TV show, you'd better be prepared to have happen.

When I say that I loved the original A-Team, I'm not exaggerating. My friends and I had our own A-Team GANG. (I was Face, because even then, we all believed in truth in advertising.) I own seasons 1 & 2 on DVD, and I watched the show all 5 seasons it was on. Well, I watched it religiously for seasons 1 & 2, hopefully for seasons 3 & 4, and then backed away when the show jumped not only the shark but all of Sea World in the last season...you know, when suddenly the team was "working for the government" and added on a semi-cute Hispanic guy to bring in absolutely no viewers? Yeah, I've tried to block that season out, too.

One of the great things about the TV show, at least its first two seasons, was that there was a girl in the mix, and she was, while pretty, a normal person. The way everyone acts, you'd think that only the male half of the population were watching the show, but that's not reality -- women and girls liked this show, too. In part because of the Amy character.

Somewhere in contract negotiations for season 3, apparently the producers decided cute and normal had to go, and dumped Melinda Culea (who every female viewer was attached to) for some chick whose name I cannot recall. New Chick was very curvy and sexy and was possibly my first introduction to the concept of why the "hottie" chicks are hard to buy as brilliant. She stank up the place, and I can't recall now if she even lasted the full season, but by season 4 it was just all dudes.

All dudes was okay, but it wasn't the SAME.

Which brings me to the movie. (I know, finally. Well, I did warn you.)

The casting for the movie was great, and I'm grateful for it. Liam Neeson isn't George Peppard, but he channels Peppard as Hannibal, while updating the character to make him a lot more badass (I know! But yes, it's possible!) and a lot less campy (trust me, that was definitely possible).

Bradley Cooper isn't Dirk Benedict, but in the 80's they never let Dirk take his shirt off, and in the new millennium teens we get to see Bradley's most awesome pecs and abs...not once, not twice, but at least three times. This movie was in the "win" column for that alone. But I digress...

Bradley does a fine job as Face. True we don't see him do a lot of what Face does best -- con people -- but he does enough, and the storyline didn't allow for more. Maybe in A-Team 2.

Sharlto Copley was epic as Howling Mad Murdoch. I really wasn't sure that someone could hang in Dwight Schultz's crazy tennies, but Sharlto came through big time. His cute little accent wasn't a distraction, either, because, hey, he's crazy, and Murdoch used accents all the time in the TV show.

The one casting decision I wasn't worried about from Day 1 was Quinton "Rampage" Jackson as B.A. Baracus. He's no Mr. T -- but then again, who IS? (and, yes, I agree, Mr. T looks like he's been in a cryogenic chamber for 20 years, and considering the health issues the man fought through and survived, there's your real life hero) -- but he did a great job in the role as I'd known he would.

And now, to the chick. What the movie people apparently "get" that the TV people forgot is that women like a character they can relate to. Jessica Biel did a fine job, possibly my fave role of hers yet. I'm not thrilled with the implications that Face's ex-but-really-we-want-to-be-TOGETHER-girlfriend will be "the" chick for the movie series, but I'll take her over no chick at all. And she's given a position of authority -- she's an Army Captain (then demoted, then promoted again!) working for the Department of Defense.

As for the plot -- stuff blows up real good! Which is true, but somewhat unfair. We get an origin story for how the team formed, we get to see them together and see the bond. In the show, while Hannibal and Face had the father/son thing, B.A. and Hannibal were more like pals, equals despite the differences in rank, and Murdoch was the crazy aunt in the basement. In the movie, Hannibal's a father figure to the other three, and I liked that a lot. It was vital to the storyline, but it also makes the characters a little more real to me -- for B.A. and Murdoch in particular, until they run across Hannibal, their lives aren't going where they want. With Hannibal leading them, they really become a team and therefore a family. My Three Kickbutt Sons, if you will.

But those kinds of meaningful things are implied, because more than anything what the A-Team name promises and this film delivers is action. It's almost nonstop and it's good. I could buy even the ludicrous because, hey, they're all Army Rangers, and so happy to BE Rangers that they all have the badass Ranger tattoo on their arms. So I could suspend the ol' disbelief and I enjoyed it all. Except for one thing.

Standard Handheld Camera For Action/Fight Scenes Rant: Really, Hollywood, can someone there get it through their thick heads that we want to SEE who is hitting who and what is blowing up WITHOUT getting seasick at the same time? Good lord, when will this trend end? EVER?

The movie has an intricate plot that's still easy to follow, satisfying bad guys and situations set up to ensure that our heroes are going to HAVE to escape to the Los Angeles Underground where, hopefully soon, someone will have a problem that no one else can help with and they'll find and hire the A-Team. And also hopefully, Face will be naked or semi-naked several times again, just 'cause.

A note about the cameos: First off, Mr. T is not in it, so don't even hope for that. He's not in it because his passion really IS protecting children. The TV show set that up and kept that up -- not only did you know that B.A. was a big grizzly who'd turn into a teddy bear at the sight of a kid, and then right back to grizzly to protect said kid, but the violence was all 'safe'. The A-Team really was a live-action cartoon (and I say that with love, because, let's remember, I watched said live-action cartoon). Cars flipped, bombs exploded, bullets flew, and the most that ever happened was a flesh wound to B.A. that happened off-screen. No one ever got hurt, and the most "action" any of the guys saw was a semi-tongue kiss.

Not so with this movie. People die, as they should when that many bullets are flying about. There isn't a lot of sex, though there is a lot of sexual tension between Face and D.O.D. Chick. But there is pain and injury and death. It's fine for the movie, after all, thing are different 20+ years later, but I can see why Mr. T opted out.

Before I get to the other cameos TV show fans care about, there were two cameos I particularly enjoyed. Henry Czerny, who played the C.I.A. boss in "Mission: Impossible" (the first movie) was here as the D.O.D. boss. If that was supposed to be an in-joke that he's the boss of two agencies in two movies made from two TV shows, I got it. If not, I still enjoyed his presence. LOL.

Jon Hamm of "Mad Men" fame is also in there as a C.I.A. operative, and I suspect he'll be back for the next movies, at least I hope so.

Now, onto what the TV fans care about, cameos-wise. George Peppard has, of course, been acting on the heavenly stage for many years now. But Dirk Benedict and Dwight Schulz had cameos. If you want to see them, sit through the credits, because that's where they are.

Now, before you get righteously wrathed, you can tell from the scenes that they were shot to be IN the movie. And once you see them, you'll thank God the director put them after the credits.

Why? Well, yes, Dirk looks old. Dirk IS old, and he had a lot of health issues he fought through (this show had a lot of illness related to it), and the miles are showing, but still, it's not that. Dwight was almost unrecognizable -- he's actually aged well, but his face has somehow become almost rectangular. He still SOUNDS like Murdoch, but he sure doesn't look like him any more.

Both their scenes were funny. BUT...both their scenes would have ruined the movie. Why? Because they instantly pulled me out of the film. Instantly. I wasn't thinking, "Oh, wonder what's coming now." I was thinking, "My God, is that Dirk Benedict? How old IS he? That old? Well, looking good for that old, I guess. Hell, which one is Dwight Schultz? That can't be him. That IS him!" And so on. This kind of audience reaction does not a successful film make. And everyone still there at the end of the credits was having it.

I'm sure both actors are disappointed to be after the credits (but their scenes ARE worth waiting for), but it was the right choice. The movie has to stand on its own, with the new actors interpreting the roles. In my opinion, it does a great job, and is a success. I'll be buying the DVD as soon as it comes out.

Just hoping there's a "Bradley Cooper's Naked Outtakes" section.

TGC

Movie Review: Hamlet 2

2010-06-01T15:28:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine, Amber (of The Amber Scott Project fame), has been insisting to me for ages that I had to watch "Hamlet 2". I hadn't felt the need when this flashed in and out of theaters, but since it's on DVD and, since Amber brought it to me, and also since you don't hold onto your pals' fave DVDs without watching them, I so watched.

And. Oh. My. God.

It's hilarious.

Now, it's probably not the best movie ever made, though it's certainly the funniest one made about people in Tucson. The movie stars Steve Coogan, he of the Ben Stiller Gang, aka the Director in "Tropic Thunder", the Roman General in the "Night at the Museum" movies, and so on. And he's brilliant. But so is the rest of it.

It's your standard "teacher inspires" movie crossed with "Fame" and with a hearty helping of "Midsummer Night's Dream", and, of course, "Hamlet", and a lot of scatological and sacrilegious humor tossed in -- then turned on its ear and pulled inside out. (Those in the creative arts will particularly find a lot of relatability to the characters, embarrassingly so.) It takes shots at racism, fundamentalism, arts funding cuts that have removed any and all arts from schools, the ACLU, and more, all while managing to show that the power of dreams will ultimately win out.

Like the "teacher inspires" movies it's poking fun at, Coogan is a drama teacher. Unlike those other movies, he's rather pathetic and the one in need of saving. Like "A Midsummer Night's Dream", the truly hilarious portion is at the end, when the play that our intrepid drama teacher and his class of misfits are trying to put on actually hits the stage. But all the 3/4 of the movie prior is not only funny, it's all necessary to get the full pee-your-pants laughs out of the last 1/4.

The kids are mostly unknowns, the adults include Coogan, Catherine Keener (bravely being a total, completely believable, emasculating bitch), David Arquette (and, just asking, but can David really be as stupid in real life as he acts on the DVD extras? I say no, that he's just wise to his typecasting and doesn't want anyone to ever think he's actually bright so that he continues to work steadily), and Elisabeth Shue. Shue deserves some sort of award for clearly being the celebrity most willing to make fun of herself. She sort of made the movie for me, just because every scene it was like, "I can't BELIEVE she let them do or say that about her, OMG, she said it herself!" sort of thing.

I could describe the movie's plot, but why? This is truly one where you have to watch it and commit to watching it the whole way through. The payoff is worth the time.

And I defy you to not watch the cast perform "Rock Me, Sexy Jesus" and NOT wonder why these kids aren't the stars of "Glee". Or at least their ghetto rivals.

TGC

Fun Times With Stupid People

2010-01-27T17:00:00.000-08:00

I was out to lunch with my daughter the other day and was sharply reminded that stupid people come in all sizes, shapes, colors and ages.

There were two well-over-55-years-old women in front of us at the restaurant. They were staring at the hostess stand as if they'd never seen one before. They stood well back from it, lest the hostess leap over and attack. My daughter waited a bit, then moved around them and put our name in. Then and only then did the women approach the hostess to put their names in. They did it in clear English, so they weren't foreign visitors.

Okay, I know what you're thinking -- they just weren't sure if they wanted to eat there, right? That's what I thought. I mean, they looked like any other set of older ladies, and they didn't have a handler with them, so one assumes they dressed themselves and drove themselves to the restaurant.

I didn't give them another thought...until I went to the bathroom.

While on my way, I passed one of the women. The restaurant owners have pictures of famous and semi-famous people who've eaten there on the walls. The woman was looking at them. I walked right by her, and she looked straight at me, and the ONLY place I could go once past her was either the women's room or the men's. Period. The pictures are literally outside the bathrooms. One step away from the pictures puts you at the restroom doors.

There were two stalls, one was occupied, I took the other. Said woman wanders in after me.

NOW. She's SEEN me go past, so she KNOWS at least one person is in here. But we're being rather quiet. So she sort of pushes on the doors. They don't budge. At this point, a normal person says to themselves, "Both taken, I'll wait. Or look under the doors for feet. Or listen for the sound of flushing." But not this woman.

Another woman comes in, and the woman says to her, "I can't tell if there are any stalls here." She's standing in front of them, mind you, and has already pushed on the doors. The new occupant shares that, look, there are stalls. Mrs. Idiot then says, "Well, there's no sounds and the doors won't open." The other woman shares that, perhaps, just maybe, there are women IN the stalls already and they aren't having gastrointestinal problems so are being quiet. Mrs. Idiot replies, "Oh, I don't know how that could be."

Really? It must be nice to live in a world where you never have to wait for a bathroom stall, EVER. I don't live there, but apparently on Planet Stupido, they have a no waiting policy.

At this point, the other toilet flushes, and shortly thereafter, the occupant leaves. At which point Mrs. Idiot says, "Oh! Is there only one stall and it just fills the whole place?"

Keep in mind, this woman SAW ME GO IN and had NOT seen me go OUT. I'm fairly positive my doppelganger wasn't in the next stall and, sadly, I'm not some tiny wisp of a thing no one would ever notice. Therefore, why would she assume there was only one stall? Where did I go, where was I? France? In the plumbing? Lurking at the back of the "extendo-stall" she apparently decided this was? In the men's room? I'm clearly a girl, so that one's out, too.

The other occupant says, "No, there are two stalls. Two doors, two stalls." Mrs. Idiot says, "Oh, but I didn't hear anything and I couldn't open either one." The other occupant says, "Yes. Because people were and are in them." She chose not to deal with the sound comment -- I was awed by her restraint.

Mrs. Idiot is still remarking on this phenomenon as she enters the stall, I flush mine, and so forth The woman waiting for my stall gave me the universal look for, "what an idiot" and waggled her eyebrows at the other stall. I nodded. No words needed to be said.

But, here's my question. How do you reach AARP age in a big city in the USA without understanding the basic concepts of hostess stands and bathrooms while at the same time having no apparent major learning disorders?

Has this woman's life been SO charmed that she has never, EVER, had to wait for something, not even a bathroom stall? Has the concept of telling someone you'd like to be seated never been one she's had to pay attention to? She didn't look like some former celebrity, if she's part of any royal family they need to stop inbreeding immediately, and no one was acting like her picture needed to be added onto the Wall of Fame by the bathrooms.

Which leaves me with this conclusion: I'm really glad I was in the stalls BEFORE her and got out before she did whatever it is that she does that would alert the world to her stall being occupied.

It's the little things you cherish, after all.

TGC

The Gift That Keeps on Giving...and Giving and...

2009-12-07T15:00:00.001-08:00

As the holidays bear down upon us, my thoughts turn, as they so often do, to things I never, ever want to receive again.

This list is, as you can imagine, quite long by now. I've been on the planet a few decades and I've gotten a lot of crap I never need to see again. A bouffant-sized shower cap (I have fine hair and wash it every day, and I've never in my life worn it up in a bouffant), a sea otter ashtray (I do not now, nor as an asthmatic have I ever or will I ever, smoke), overpowering-smelling shower gel (I'm also scent allergic and I also don't like to smell like an old-fashioned whorehouse), and so on. But the worst gift ever was the so-called gift of Amish Friendship Bread.

For those few who have somehow managed to avoid this exercise in bacteria, the Amish Friendship Bread has supposedly been around for centuries. The way it works is that a "friend" gives you a plastic cup half filled with some semi-viscous substance that through the magic of yeast and some Amish black magic (trust me on this one) doubles in size overnight.

The idea is that you divide the "half cup" you get and give your "extra" off to a friend. And the thing that makes this a quaint and special gift is that, supposedly, you still have some molecules of the original Friendship Bread from however many centuries ago, when the first Amish housewife decided to get back at everyone she knew in a really nasty and yet totally Christian way.

This is a great plan in theory. The bread is, despite or perhaps because of the centuries of bacteria and God alone knows what else in it, quite delicious. It makes a hefty loaf, too.

Which is awesome for Octomom and those horrible Gosselin people (who, let's be honest, might not actually have friends to obtain Friendship Bread from...but I digress...) and anyone else who has an army to feed on a nightly basis. But for those of us with smaller families, baking a huge loaf of bread a day gets a little ridiculous.

Yes, you have to bake a loaf a day. Or you end up with far more than just one "extra" bread-ick-in-a-cup to hand out. You end up with tons. Because that stuff really does double in size overnight. Each portion doubles overnight. Every night.

Oh sure, at first it sounds great. Home-baked bread, a gift out of nowhere for your friends, what's not to like? But it never ends. First you take it into work, but by the 3rd day, everyone at work has some and is trying to pass it back to everyone else. Then you start getting to know your neighbors. Then your entire zip code. Then your entire state. No matter who you are, no one, not even Oprah, can get rid of all the Friendship Bread one single half-cup can create in less than two weeks. It takes on a life of its own. You spend all your time trying to give the Friendship Bread away. The homeless are too smart to take it, and after two or three weeks, everyone else in the world shuns you. It's evil, pure and simple.

My BBFF got some Friendship Bread a couple of weeks ago. She loves to cook (I know, what am I doing with a BBFF like that?) and was all excited about it. I merely laughed, probably the same low, evil laugh that original Amish housewife gave when she handed off the first set of this stuff. Because I knew what was going to happen, despite my BBFF's protests that she would keep it going forever.

Needless to say, when she was talking me today about her Christmas baking, the Amish bread didn't come up. When I asked about it, she said, "Oh, I said screw it and threw that crap away. It's a pain in the ass." I was the bigger person and only said, "I told you so," a few times.

Of course, the issue with something that keeps on doubling is that you can toss it into the garbage, but it's STILL going to double. So, when the Christmas Blob comes down the chimney, you'll know who to thank.

Not me, of course. But if you're looking for a bouffant-sized shower cap, drop me a line and you could find it under the tree. Nestled there right next to your Amish Friendship Bread Starter Set that you got from "Santa".

"Enjoy."

TGC

Movie Review: Zombieland

2009-10-05T11:27:00.001-07:00

As many of you may know, I'm not much of a girl for horror movies. They scare me much more than just a little. (Because I believe them, but that's a whole 'nother blog in and of itself.)

So it came as something of a shock to my husband when I asked, nay demanded, to see 'Zombieland' this weekend. Because I did so demand. Loudly and with great insistence.

You see, 'Zombieland' isn't so much a horror movie as it is an action comedy. And I love me some action and comedy. And 'Zombieland' did not disappoint. Point blank, I loved this movie.

First off, let me say that the trailers actually do this movie justice. They show you exactly what it is without revealing all the big moments or all the belly laughs. If you like the trailer, you'll love the movie.

Next is the cast. No one does 'wacked out, good ol' boy with more savvy than you realize' better than Woody Harrelson. This may be my favorite role of his, ever. The rest of the cast are great, too. And there's a surprise cameo that a room full of zombies couldn't get me to 'spoil', but it's both perfect and hilarious. Easily the best cameo since Billy Zane, that cool dude, announced it was a walk-off. (Waves to other 'Zoolander' fans out there. I guess I like 'Z' movies.)

The storyline is presented in a fresh and funny way, and the stunts are way cool. I'm sure the movie's making some kind of social commentary, but I didn't bother to try to find it or figure it out -- it was enough fun that I didn't have to.

Now, for the zombies. They're gross and scary while managing to be funny at the same time. I consider that a hard trick to pull off. Someone compared this movie to 'An American Werewolf in London', but I think 'Zombieland' is far better. I hated AAWIL, for starters, and I loved 'Zombieland'. I also think 'Zombieland' has a real chance of standing the test of time without becoming hilariously dated. Time, of course, will tell, but my money's always on the funny.

Even my husband, Mr. Contrary, enjoyed it. He said he didn't feel the need to see it again, but he really liked it in the theater.

Well, when it comes out on DVD, he doesn't have to watch it with me, now, does he?

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Young Writer Scholarship Opportunity

2009-07-29T18:01:00.000-07:00

An agent friend of mine has a great scholarship opportunity that I'd like to publicize. It's centered around the Society of Southwestern Author's conference in Tucson at the end of September, 2009, however you don't have to be a Tucson resident to apply or win, you just need to be able to get to Tucson and attend the conference.

Details below...

*****
I would like to introduce a scholarship opportunity to a high school-aged young writer in the Tucson area for the Wrangling with Writing Conference in September 2009. First, let me tell you a little about our program, so you have an idea about the organization that is offering this opportunity.

I am the president and founder of Capitol City Young Writers (CCYW), a national non-profit organization dedicated to the education and inspiration of young writers. CCYW’s goal is to educate members on the art and craft of writing and to provide opportunities for young writers to pursue their writing and literary dreams.

CCYW provides career exploration, writing workshops, scholarships, internships and leadership opportunities. Members discover the skills necessary to enter literary related careers such as editing, journalism or broadcast radio. From fiction and non-fiction, to poetry, screenwriting, songwriting and broadcast radio, students are supported through workshops bringing professionals and mentors together in local communities through online tutorials, annual conferences, a youth run literary journal, writing and audio competitions, and mentoring.

Because I believe in the power of community, I attempt to bring as many opportunities to local young writers in the form of scholarships to local writers’ conferences. The Society of Southwestern Authors has provided CCYW with two scholarships to their writers’ conference from September 25th-27th. The scholarship provides tuition only and not the cost of travel, lodging or meals. Scholarships are open to high school students only and a parent must accompany the member. Scholarships are only available to CCYW members. For more information about the conference, please visit http://ssa-az.org/.

For more information about the organization or membership, please visit the CCYW website, www.capitolcityyoungwriters.com.

Feel free to contact me with any questions.

Thank you,
Verna Dreisbach

Founder and President of CCYW
verna@capitolcityyoungwriters.com
*****
Verna's the greatest and the CCYW is a wonderful organization, and I encourage anyone who fits the requirements to try for this scholarship.

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My Personal Farewell to General Motors

2009-06-08T11:50:00.001-07:00

Over the course of my life, I've owned more than one GM product and driven many more than I've owned. And it's not nice to kick a corporation when they're down and all, but I'm going to anyway. GM? We are through. Sure, I may one day get a Corvette, but it'll be a vintage Corvette and you won't have anything to do with it by that time. And, as for your flagship brand, I have this to say -- Cadillac sucks.

You may ask, why the GM animosity all of a sudden? And, really, it wasn't always like this between me and GM. My first car was a used 1970 Chevy 4-door Impala. Seated 12 on the inside and 6 in the trunk. I loved that car. It was like my own personal tank. I hit things, but I never knew about it. The things I hit knew, but you never felt so much as a shimmy inside.

So, I had a predisposition to GM cars young. Not that it stopped me from buying other cars. The first two cars I bought with my own money were Mazdas, which I drove until they died. After those, however, I wasn't able to find a car that would last. Then we got the Lexus and the true joys of car ownership were explained to me.

My Lexus IS300 is the greatest car ever made. Turns on a dime (still), handles like a dream (still), very few problems with it (still), and Lexus service is the best in the world (still and always). So, I now compare everything to Lexus quality. If it doesn't match up, I'm not a happy girl.

A year or so after we got the Lexus, we needed to trade in our then-current SUV for one that, hopefully, wouldn't have constant front-end problems. Enter Cadillac. I love the newer styling of the Cadillac RX series, and really wanted the SRX, a mid-sized SUV. So, we got one. And I loved it. For one whole day.

We started having problems with it on, I swear to God, the second day of ownership. And the realization that nothing matters more at a car dealership than the Service Department was brought home to me in sharp relief. Because everything that went wrong with the Cadillac became a huge issue due to the lack of cohesion or interest on the parts of the Service, Parts and Scheduling Departments at our dealership. (Lund Cadillac, for those in the Greater Phoenix Metro Area who want to avoid buying from the worst dealership in the world.)

Any time I brought the car in for service, it took 3 times longer than estimated, the service was done wrong, and they managed to break something else while 'fixing' the original problem. I wish I was making this up to be funny, but I'm not. The car itself drives, handles, and brakes wonderfully. It feels great inside. All's super until you notice that your rear view mirror casing has fallen off in your hand...again. Parts fall off this beast like it's a leprous zombie. And don't start me on the stereo/CD system...which has been replaced an amazing, I kid you not, 11 times and counting.

Things came to a head these last few months. My service agent advised me that my factory warranty had expired the month prior. As in, he let me know a month after expiration, not a month before. (For comparison, Lexus advised me a year prior to my extended warranty's coming expiration and worked with me to determine when I should re-extend, so that there will be no blip in coverage.) Meaning that all the repairs for all the stuff that falls off on a regular basis will no longer be covered even though we have an extended warranty. And then he shared that services heretofore free -- like loaner cars when my SRX is in for its 3 times too long repairs -- would now be charged. Services that were part of the reason you bought a Cadillac in the first place.

When I complained, my service guy reminded me that, well, things are bad all over. Oh, really? Gosh, I hadn't noticed. I sure don't notice at Lexus. My service level hasn't gone down one whit over there.

So, I whined and I pleaded and whined some more. I wanted to get rid of the Cadillac and get something else. Seeing as we have 3 large dogs, we have to have something that can carry them easily. So, my husband searched around and we determined that we would see how we liked the Scion xB.

Guess what? We like it a whole lot.

In fact, we liked it so much, that we traded in the Cadillac and got a Scion. A limited edition Scion. In red (which is this year's limited edition color).

We still haven't seen the car in person. "Our" car arrived in the port at Long Beach on Saturday morning and we bought it Saturday afternoon. (Oh, and SNAP to anyone else who wanted it -- we got it first, nyah, nyah, nyah.) So we're still in the Cadillac, but only until our Scion arrives and gets all its fancy upgrades that we added on (hey, if you're gonna play...PLAY).

I have absolutely no buyer's remorse, either. I have buyer's longing -- I can't wait to shove the Cadillac into my Scion dealer's hands and never have to deal with it or any Cadillac dealer ever again, and then drive off in my smokin', new, bright red, lowered, fancied up, blacked out, stylin' Scion xB.

So, GM -- so long, farewell, auf weidersein, goodbye. And Scion -- here's to start of a new and beautiful friendship.

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Torture Techniques for Writers

2009-05-21T18:52:00.000-07:00

I'm one of those writers who works just fine in noise. And chaos. I'm great with chaos. So, I can pretty much write anywhere, any time. Silence I'm not so fond of, though. I hear things, distracting things, if it's all quiet. So, I work and write with music in the background. Rock music, for preference.

I also find music particularly inspiring. The right artist, album, or song can rev me for hours, sometimes days or even weeks. I have wide, eclectic tastes in music, so I have a huge music library to choose from. (Trust me, we're talking Empire Records/High Fidelity huge. Combined.)

This is great for me, because it means I can always get in the writing groove merely by turning on the iPod or stereo. It's not so great for my husband. Because he doesn't have the same deep and wide and eclectic musical tastes as I do. So he gets to listen to music he usually hates pretty much 24/7.

But, there's more. When I get on a one song kick, I will listen to that, and only that, for hours, usually days. Weeks isn't unheard of. Yes, you read that right -- one song, over and over and over again, ad infinitum.

The husband shared that this is not only a military torture technique, but apparently a really successful one. One song, played loud, over and over again, nonstop. It's working, making the enemy crack, and is considered a horrific thing to do to a person. To him, my musical listening habits sound like cause for Amnesty International to come and have a chat with his wife about her cruel and unusual punishments.

To me this sounds like I should get away from it all at Guantanamo Bay. A little R&R in a private room with a view, someone else slopping up the gruel, no worries about housecleaning, that one special song on repeat -- I'd have a novel done in like a week.

Years of sports-related injuries have also upped my pain tolerance. I pay money for people to hurt me in order to feel better when they stop. Clearly, I'm missing my true calling.

Ergo, I offer myself up to the State Department. I'll volunteer to go out for some super secret mission. They can rest easy with the knowledge that, if captured, I'll never crack.

Until then, it's time to get some writing done. For some reason, "I'm a Terrible Person" by Rooney is calling my name. Cannot imagine why.

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How I Met My Mother

2009-05-09T14:01:00.000-07:00

My first introduction to the woman who would become my de facto mother was at tax time. I don’t deal well with forms -- which is a story for another time, another blog, and, potentially, another writer -- this is a humor column, after all, not Oprah’s couch.

We’d bought a house and had no idea of what to do to ensure Uncle Sam didn’t just take it right back from us, so we called our realtor, who is also a good friend, and said, “Helen, what do we do?”

Helen, God love her, always knows what to do.

She sent us to Mary, who is a C.P.A. and who also conveniently lived not 5 minutes from us. We’re on one side of the mall, she’s on the other.

So, we made our appointment and trundled over. The hubs was calm and normal, the chicklet was busy doing her homework. And I was in the fetal position. Quite the impressive first meeting.

A couple of weeks later, hubs and Mary were talking and he discovered she and I shared mutual interests in a couple of TV shows and the Old West. So, she and I started chatting about it on email, and all of a sudden, she realizes I’m a normal person. So, we started hanging out, since we lived close and both like to eat, drink and be merry, yet have husbands that go to bed at 9pm.

A few months after this, it was business trip time. The hubs was on his own trip, the chicklet was taken care of, but I needed a ride to the airport. This was before 9-11, so you could still go to the gate with your departing party. Since Mary was driving me there, I suggested she come in, I’d buy us Starbucks, and we could continue talking (something we both excel at) while waiting for my plane to board.

We were in the security line when it happened. The very nice, elderly black lady doing my security was listening to us riff and yuck it up as I opened my Thinkpad and turned it on to prove it wasn’t a bomb. In fact, back in these simpler days, we were riffing that maybe it WAS a bomb and maybe I WAS a terrorist. Good times…good times. Try that now and see what happens to you.

Anyway, as we got off a particularly funny set of ripostes, the lady said, “Oh, it’s so nice to see a mother and daughter so close.” I guess Mary insinuating I was a terrorist fit this lady’s definition of ‘close’.

Mary is older than me, but not THAT much older. I laughed and shared that Mary wasn’t my mother. Which upset the security lady. A lot. “I don’t think you should be embarrassed by it! I think it’s wonderful!”

Mary explained that, no, we were just good friends. Which continued to upset the security lady. A lot. “In this day and age, it’s such a beautiful thing, a mother and daughter so close and such good friends! You shouldn’t be denying it, you should be embracing it!” I thought she was going to cry. Literally. And if she cried, would that not mean other security personnel might take a more personal interest?

So, to keep the peace, I said, “Yes, you’re right, she’s my mom.” Instant relief from the security lady, no special bag searches for me, and we trundled off. As we got out of security earshot, Mary said, “Yes. You’re the illegitimate daughter gave up for adoption because I was only thirteen.”

Her mistake.

Because I latched onto that one, and we riffed on it the entire time we waited for the plane. By the time I boarded, she WAS my mom. I call her Mumsy, at least as often as I call her Mary. The chicklet calls her GrandMumsy at least as often. She and my “Daddy” are great parents -- there when you need them, never digging in your business otherwise, fun to hang out with.

But Mumsy got the better deal. She adopted a full grown adult with a good job and marriage, complete with pre-housebroken grandchild. She reaps the benefits of a son-in-law who is happy to come over and help do things, tech support from both of us, and the joys of a grandchild, without ever having gone through the icky parts of parenting.

And, she scores Mother’s Day gifts, too.

This year, I'm giving her a blog.

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Spring Cleaning (Or, What's WRONG With Me?)

2009-04-30T19:51:00.000-07:00

As those who know me, even a little, know well, I'm not much of a girl for housecleaning. It bores me more than just a little. It's exhausting, painful, and -- since we live in the dustiest city this side of Calcutta -- fruitless. A continuous loop of 'lift, clean, set down, lift, clean, set down'. We also have three dogs and two cats and they're anti the idea of keeping the house neat and tidy.

Oh sure, the house is cleaner than I probably make it sound, for which, 99% of the time, the kudos go to my husband. But not this week.

No, this week, I've been doing the cleaning. And I have only one thing to say: God alone knows why.

Wait. Two things: Please, God, somebody stop me!

For reasons I still can't comprehend but am blaming on Spring (as if we even have Spring here -- it's more like three weeks where it's not really cold and not horrifyingly hot) I got the urge to clean. And not just any clean. No, really clean. Clean clean.

I have a bad back, and so this kind of cleaning is not to be undertaken lightly. Or all at once. Or it's extra quality time with the chiropractor. So, I've been working through, room by room. But not all parts of the rooms. Just the lower parts.

You read that right. From about knee height down, my house is sparkling. Higher than that? Well, it's...about the same as it always is.

I have no idea why I care so much about the floors and the baseboards and the corners and all. I just do. If I were pregnant (which, thankfully, I am not), I'd say I was 'nesting'. If we had company coming, I'd say it was to impress them. But our company left already and she was nice and we didn't have to impress her. Nor, let me stress, was her presence the reason for the cleaning season. She left the guestroom a lot neater than when she arrived. (Someone has to be neat around here. Sure, it was a visitor, but that counts, right?) I haven't killed anyone, so I'm not having a Lizzie Borden or Lady Macbeth complex of any kind (look it up), nor am I trying to get rid of evidence.

No, there's no obvious reason for this -- I can call it nothing else -- cleaning frenzy. It's just there. Telling me that, as soon as the floors of the remaining rooms are done, we're going to work on the walls. And then, perhaps, the ceilings. And then, if I'm not dead -- we'll start straightening things, finding a place for everything and putting everything in its place. So that this will be the best Spring Cleaning EVER in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD. Or at least the history of me.

Summer cannot get here fast enough.

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Dangers of the Interwebs

2009-04-11T10:11:00.000-07:00

I'm experiencing technical difficulties.

I got a new phone and have to move my address book and calendar from the old system to the new one. Suffice to say, this is never as easy as the manuals make it sound. But, no worries, I was able to (somewhat) move things from the old system to Yahoo, and then from Yahoo to the new system.

Sure, I had to do a lot manually, but not nearly as much as every other option was providing. So, it was the right choice. I hope.

At first, all seemed well. I was able to move my (huge) address book into my new phone (and there was much rejoicing). I was able to move the calendar, too (even more rejoicing). All was swell.

And then I tried to sync back. (And there was much gnashing of teeth and rending of hair and garments.)

Good freaking lord, is all I have to say.

First off, and this will surprise exactly no one, I'm sure, the website help sent me to live support and live support...wait for it...was exactly no help at all! Yes, it was, as always, the No Help Desk.

I tried to get to Level 3 Support, but the guy on the Level 1 Support wasn't having any of it. I'm sure he believes he's truly Level 3 quality and the boss just sells him short. (Trust me, the boss is right.) Basically, the first thing they always want to do is wipe your entire device or system, to start from scratch, and, after 15 minutes of my explaining and re-explaining the situation, my tech guy didn't stray from that standard game plan. Isn't that keen. It means that all you have you likely lose, and being an old hand at technological problems, I personally know there's always other options to try first.

So, I tried them. A lot. Bottom line, after 8 hours (this was my full time job yesterday), is that something's corrupted somewhere in the address book, probably on the Yahoo side, and I have no freaking idea of where or why, because it wasn't corrupted until I tried to send from the device side. I have no one to talk to about it, either, since Mr. Tech Level 1 was supposed to call me back and never did. Not that I was exactly pining for his call. We didn't click on that first date and I'm not hoping for another. Nice to know he feels the same.

Again surprising no one, the phone people's websites say it's software and the software people's websites say it's the phone or the phone's software and ne'er the two shall meet nor help. So, I'm syncing everything else and calling it good for a while.

Adding insult to injury, this process somehow wiped half of my Yahoo Buddy list. Now, as is well known, I live for instant messaging. I've been doing it since the first ones sprouted lo these many moons ago. And now half of my list is gone.

Wasn't too bad to figure out most of who I lost, though it's harder when you can't remember someone's clever screen name. (Note to clever screen name friends: If you didn't get an add notice from me, send me an IM, just to be safe. Or, you know, go hang with Mr. Tech Level 1 and diss me.) However, I remember my mom's. And so I sent her an add request pronto. Which she refused.

Why? Because she was afraid someone had stolen my identity and, as part of their nefarious takeover plan, they were going to try to get her to add them, disguised as me, onto her Buddy list and then infiltrate her computer and then, clearly, the world. This is a woman networked to absolutely no one, computer-wise, but she was sure this was the next Nigerian email scam. Hey, now you know where the writer's imagination comes from.

I've straightened her out, and all is well. At least until the next time I try to use my phone. And if you send me a mere $50,000 when you add me onto your Buddy list, I will, in return, ensure that you receive $100,000,000 from this account that's sitting here in my computer, needing a trustworthy soul such as yourself to claim it.

I am most sincerely and trustworthily yours,
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A Flash in the Can

2009-03-21T09:47:00.000-07:00

I was at my massage spa yesterday. Now, before you get any ideas, this is the nice, legitimate kind and I was a client, not earning extra money by using the pseudonym "Mistress VaVaVoom" or something. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

It's a small, well-run, sparkling clean, beautifully appointed place. Great management and staff and, since I'm one of them, fabulous clientele.

There are two things that are a given when you get a massage. You're going to feel better leaving than you did arriving, and your hair is going to look insanely bad until you can fix it up in the bathroom. And you have to fix it up in the bathroom before you leave or bring a baseball cap, and I always forget to bring a baseball cap.

While I'm getting my massage, my therapist mentions that she has a 16-year-old boy coming in right after me. I'm thinking this has to be the smartest kid in the world. He's 16 and has already figured out that massage is great for his physical and mental well-being. I'm thinking that a kid this smart, a kid who's using his or his parents' cash for massage instead of video games or porno mags, he could be President some day.

We finish up and I head for one of the two bathrooms. Neither is marked Men or Women, just Rest Room, since a) it's a small place, and b) there are only two of them. It seems logical to me. And I can read, which clears up any mysteries -- two bathrooms, for whoever gets there first. And, two modern bathrooms, I must stress, with locks on the doors.

Bathroom 1 is clearly occupied. I can tell by the light on and the fact that the door is locked. So I head for Bathroom 2, because I'm not stepping past the bathrooms until my hair is fixed up. The door opens without issue because it IS NOT LOCKED.

I stressed those last words because, of course, you know what's coming and who's in there. Right. Our 16-year-old future President, standing there, doing what males do. With an O-face on that has nothing to do with enjoyment and everything to do with "OHMYGOD".

To my credit, I didn't look down (not that there appeared much to see, but, again, I wasn't actually trying to take a gander). I merely took in the scene, saw his look of complete surprise mingled with horror, said, "Oh, sorry!", and backed out. My therapist and the wife half of the ownership team were standing there, looking at me with that, "Are you kidding me?" look. I, in turn was standing there trying not to laugh like a hyena.

Our future Pres comes out, apologizing profusely to ME. As if seeing a flash of baby wieney was going to psychologically affect me. I have no idea how he felt -- with three grown women, two of whom were absolutely old enough to be his mother, all looking at him, clearly trying not to laugh --but I'll wager it wasn't good.

I went in and of course, of COURSE, I had the worst, most amazingly scary-looking, massage hair ever. I looked at myself and wondered how the kid had not screamed when he saw me coming in. Self-control and the ability to keep hold of one's head (insert your bad joke here) during a crisis is a good Presidential trait.

All the adults had a good laugh about this once I was out and the inner sanctum door was closed, myself in particular. I suggested they check the kid for emotional scarring, and also suggest that, since he's 16, not 6, perhaps we should learn to lock Mr. Door before we take Mr. PeePee in public. I also requested that, the next time they were going to set me up for a cheap thrill, I wanted an adult male in the can, preferably a Chippendale's or Thunder from Down Under guy. If you're gonna play, PLAY.

I also told them to add a couple of bucks to my tip and give it to the kid. I can see nudity any time I want - I'm married and have internet access. But a laugh like this one is hard to come by.

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The National Torture

2009-03-13T10:02:00.000-07:00

My husband and I went to visit the Diamondbacks' Ballpark last weekend. And not to see a game.

No, we were there to get a private tour (!) and buy some packaged tickets and consider buying season tickets. It's really a cool thing -- you get to buy your tickets a little cheaper than the norm if you're buying in their version of bulk, and when they're romancing you, you get to see things like the dugouts and the player's rooms and stuff. It was really very fun.

Except for one thing.

We were there on the day they were doing tryouts for who will be singing the National Anthem to start each baseball game this season. And I have three words for this experience...

Oh. My. God.

Thankfully, the singers were only doing the truly hard part -- the last few lines. But there were a lot of singers. And it was the hard part, you know, the part were everyone, not just Roseanne Barr, messes up. And most of them were...well...how to put it...bad. And there was no escape. None.

It didn't matter where you were in this vast arena, you could hear them. The Chase Field sound system is good, ladies and gentlemen. We were below ground in something that resembled a bunker and I could still hear these people murdering a cat, I mean singing, as clear as a bell. When we were in the areas where echoes could form, it was downright painful.

My husband couldn't hear 90% of what our ticket rep was saying (which was just as well since he was talking about us spending money and my husband never likes to hear about that). I could because I can sort of read lips. It was truly an experience.

I now really feel for the American Idol judges. No wonder Simon's such a jerky grump. I was amazed that the DBacks judges weren't shooting people. I wanted to shoot people, and after only about 15 minutes. We were there 2 hours and I was homicidal. But the judges were there all day. They aren't paying those people enough, truly.

Some of the hopefuls, really, you had to ask yourself just who was helping them be this delusional about their singing ability. Some clearly should have warmed up before they hit the mike. Some should have stayed in bed.

There was a little girl hopeful and, you know, all the grownups want to be all "awwww" about a younger singer. But not this kid. She's undoubtedly getting herself ready for when American Idol comes to town in a few years, when she'll be old enough to participate. But unless her parents pay for a vocal coach, we'll see her on the "Losers Reel". (And, if they're currently paying for a vocal coach, they should demand their money back.)

There were a lot of okay ones, people where, if you heard them singing this in church or at the park or something, you'd be impressed. But the loudspeaker system really enhances both your good and your bad notes. And if they were nervous in front of their fellow competitors, the DBacks judges, and the few folks like us wandering through -- and many of them clearly were -- then really, how will they handle thousands at game time?

Then there were the good ones. All five of them. One I named "Mr. Bombastic". He had a great, deep, big voice. This man doesn't need the loudspeaker system. Meaning he needs to tone it down for game day, or all the fans' ears will be bleeding. The other handful of good ones weren't as loud, but they were so very few and so very far between.

My favorite, by far, was the barbershop quartet. We were on the field near the judges for them, and they were wonderful. Perfect harmony, not too loud, in perfect pitch, and almost soothing compared to what had come before. I shot the judges a big thumb's up on them, and kept on telling our ticket rep how great they were, in case he and my opinion had any sway.

I also told our ticket rep that I wanted to select our games carefully. From now on, we only want the barbershop quartet nights. He said he'd see what he could do once his ears stopped ringing and his migraine went away. He figured that'd be in about a week.

Just in time for the next round of National Anthem Idol.

Truly, don't miss it.

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The 'Dull' Knight

2009-03-02T13:53:00.001-08:00

Movie Review: The Dark Knight (and, in that sense, Iron Man)

Okay, so let me state right up front that the days of me and my husband seeing movies the night they open are far behind us. We're not that old, we just act like it.

Sure, there are some movies we see first thing (anything with Jet Li or Jackie Chan leaps to mind, because the husband loves them), but since our daughter got old enough to date and therefore go with someone else to the Disney releases, usually we miss even the 'event' movies. But that's what DVDs are for, right?

For instance, we missed "Iron Man" when it came out, though we caught that at the dollar theater. And we missed "The Dark Knight" until DVD time. In fact, until right before the Oscars. And now, I have to ask -- really, everyone thinks this movie is the be-all, end-all for superhero movies? And that Heath Ledger's performance was amazing? Really?

Now, before all the Heath adorers get on me, I think the guy was both handsome and talented, and yes, it's a loss to all, but more to his daughter than anyone else. But all that aside, when I watched his performance, I didn't see 'transcendent'. I saw Heath doing Jack Nicholson doing the Joker from Tim Burton's "Batman". Was it good? Sure. Was it fun? Sure. Was it worth the Academy Award? Um...not so much, no. I frankly found Aaron Eckhart's character and characterization to be far more vital to the film.

But, we all know that it was the last chance to honor Heath, so, okay, sorry all the other nominees, but it's Posthumous Year and that's all there is to it.

However, the movie itself was lauded so much, and people were downright upset that it wasn't up for Best Picture, surely it was great? Um, no, not so much.

First off, I don't know what Christopher Nolan said to Christian Bale, but that 'Batman Growl' has GOT to go. My husband laughed every time Batman talked in the movie.

Next, let's deal with length. As in, this movie is too long. Why do I say that? Well, because unless there's a Hobbit in it and Peter Jackson directing it, no action movie should be so long that I, in the comfort of my own home, wonder when this thing is going to end. Which I did. Frequently, once we were past the 70 minute mark. Not because I was timing it, but because I was...bored.

Yes. I was bored during a superhero movie, and anyone who knows me knows that this is difficult to achieve. I loved "Daredevil" and I loved "The Phantom" and I was rather kind to "The Shadow" and I worship "The X-Men" and can debate the merits of all 3 "Spiderman" films, and so on, and I can also guarantee that none of these bored me at any point in time.

I also didn't like Maggie Gyllenhaal over Katie Holmes and feel the Tom Cruise backlash can stop any time now. I could see everyone fighting over Katie. Over Maggie, again, not so much.

Finally, we have the issue of scripting, which goes along with length. I feel the movie should have ended at the hospital with the Joker and Two-Face, and the 3rd movie pick up where that left off. But even if not, they killed off Two-Face. Really? This is a major villain in the Batman franchise, and Eckhart did an amazing job with him, and he's dead? And if not, if he's alive and the good guys are just pretending, then the audience should have a hint of that before the film ends. And where was Arkham Asylum? Not mentioned, but since that's where the Joker's headed and all the major villains hang out in between torturing Gotham and Batman, why not? Surely there was a minute in this long film to devote to this.

I didn't hate this movie, but I didn't love it. For love, we turn to "Iron Man". Seriously, out of the superhero movies of last year, the nomination should have been to Robert Downey, Jr. and it should have been for best actor for "Iron Man". He was transcendent. Iron Man is a rather dull character on the comics pages -- not awful, but not as fun as others. But in Downey's hands, he's the best there is. "Iron Man" ended too early for me, I wanted more and can't wait for the sequel. By comparison, "The Dark Knight" ended far too late and I was far too bored and now I don't care nearly so much when the next movie in that franchise arrives.

But I can't wait to see Downey as Tony Stark/Iron Man again, even if it's just a cameo. Even if it's just 30 seconds. And that is the definition of a great movie and an Oscar-worthy performance.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of "Oops!"

2009-02-09T20:50:00.000-08:00

My husband and I have a video game tradition. He plays, I watch and kibitz. And, strangely enough, we both enjoy it. Most of the time.

I offer helpful hints -- "Stop letting them beat you up", "If only you could aim your guns, you'd kill more bad guys and still have ammo", and "No, go that way, the other that way, the way you need to go" being merely three of my standards.

I also spot the things he misses -- 50% of the game -- and read the walkthroughs that we almost always have to find and have with us in order to complete any game. Even the games rated E for "easy". Even on the easy levels of the E-for-easy games.

Tonight's particular challenge (I say 'tonight' but we've been playing it for over a week straight already) is "Indiana Jones and the Emperor's Tomb", an older PS2 game we got this Christmas, because we're totally cutting edge in all things. And, the game may be older, but boy, is it eating our lunch. Well, not my lunch. My reading aloud abilities are just fine, as are my snide commenting skills and my ability to confuse by thinking there's "something in the corner" when, there is, in fact, nothing in the corner but corner. No, it's my husband's skills that are being put to the test.

There's a lot of jumping in this game. And the need for a lot of shooting. Neither of which appear to be my husband's particular video game specialities. He's all over the walking slowly parts of the game, but the jumping so as to land safely parts, not as much. Same with the shooting. He's missing with a machine gun. Many times when the bad guys are standing right in front of him. He likes to have Indy spin around and shoot at...nothing. I guess it makes it more of a challenge.

In real life, my husband's a very good shot. In video game life, he's a rank amateur. But he's better at the shooting than at the jumping. With the jumping, he's perfected saying, "I meant to do that," when he falls into the water (at least you take no damage...unless the sharks and/or crocodiles are still alive) or onto the hard ground (where you either take a ton of damage or die, depending). He's meant to get soaked and killed a lot.

But, you know, it's entertaining. Oh, sure, some of that entertainment lies in how cleverly I can find euphemisms for "you suck at this, don't you?" but still, it's fun that goes on and on and on.

At the rate we're falling down and dying, we'll be playing this game, and only this game, until next Christmas. And you just can't put a dollar value on that kind of long-lasting and cheap (when you compare money spent against the hours played) entertainment. Though my husband tries because at least that way, even if we lose at the game all the time, we still win.

I figure that, dying all the time or not, repeating the same sections over and over again or not, and taking months to finish what others did in a few days or not, the game's still better than "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull".

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600 Days

2009-02-03T16:28:00.000-08:00

At the end of January I reached a milestone. I hit 600 Days with Club 100.

What's Club 100, you ask? It's a commitment group, started by a romance writer, where you make a commitment to write 100 words a day for 100 days. If you miss a day, you have to start back the next day on Day 1 -- even if you missed a day on Day 99.

My first few attempts at Club 100 were abject failures. My daughter was in speech & debate in HS and I was a speech mom and every other weekend I was judging for an entire Saturday (up before dawn, in bed well past setting sun) and spent all Sunday recouperating. And I work full time and had other things going on as well. I'd crash and burn, despite all efforts. But I kept on starting back at Day 1 and persevering.

Finally, I realized I needed to give myself blackout and floater days -- blackouts were days I just didn't expect to write (Christmas, as an example), and needed to be planned ahead. Floaters meant I got (in my case) 2 days a week where if I just couldn't write, well then, I didn't and it counted as a floater. Voila! I was in business, and able to actually get past 14 days (my prior record after about 6 attempts) that way.

Because I joined Club 100 with two completed novels, one finished novella, and a variety of short stories, I needed to do more than just write and fortunately the rules are clear -- you set up your goals before you start and can't change them until you hit 100 or crash out and begin again.

I set up my goals for this go-round (and all subsequent ones) to include things that moved my writing career forward. So, for any one day, if I did one of the following, I met my Club 100 goal -- writing 100 words or more in any WIP; editing at least 20 pages of a WIP or one short story; in-depth research (among others, I write historicals); writing one query letter to an agent; one submission of a short story or query sent to an agent; in-depth beta/crit feedback; agent research of more than 30 minutes; or one crafted blog (my blogs support my pen names, so have to be in voice and also be relevant, versus stream-of-consciousness). I found that rarely did I only do one of these per day; some days I did all of them, because doing one put me on a roll for doing more.

For my first time hitting 100 days, I counted my floaters and blackouts. I made it about 114 days, if I recall, and then went on vacation and stopped. Back from vacation, I started again -- this time, not allowing myself to count any day I didn't write in my total (ergo, if I wrote on Sunday/Day 12, floated on Monday, and wrote on Tuesday, Tuesday was Day 13). Somewhere along in this next set of 100 days, the real habit kicked in. For the majority of these past 600 days, while I *could* still take a floater or blackout day, I haven't. It's become a massive point of pride to keep my days going without a break. Yes, even on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Yes, amazingly, even the day I had surgery.

At Day 400 I added in working on my website or business-related activities as legitimate Club 100 marks, as well as speaking engagements, agent consultations, and conference attendance. Why?

Because in this time, I sold my first humor pieces, got an agent, sold my first two-book deal, sold some other shorts, and have a variety of novels being shopped by said agent, and more. And, as far as I'm concerned, I owe it all to Club 100. It helps that there are others there, doing the same thing, logging in their 100+ words a day, hitting their goals, or missing and starting over, again and again. Proves you're not alone and gives you others to run with.

I still mark down what I do in the same little red book I started with. If I don't mark it down daily, I won't do it. After all this time, I still need to have that book sitting on my desk, reminding me that I haven't done anything to forward my writing career today. I doubt that I'll ever stop doing Club 100. My goal now is 700 days, and then 800, and so on. 100 days at a time :-D.

I firmly believe that this is the simplest and best thing anyone can do for their writing career. And I KNOW that if I can do it, you ALL can do it. For writing or whatever else you want to do and do well.

So, you know...why not do it?

http://www.bethpattillo.com/id8.html
To subscribe, send an email to: Club100writers-subscribe@yahoogroups.com

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Hannah the Wonder Dog

2009-01-21T21:44:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, I have pets. Currently, three attention-starved dogs (at least, according to them) and two imperious cats.

Dogs like walks. Ours in particular. So far, so very good. Exercise is needful, we live in the best city around for outdoor activities during the wintertime (it's almost 11pm here and it's a freezing 65 degrees...don't hate us for our weather, we try not to rub it in more than six or seven times a day), and we have a park a block from our house. So, the walks themselves are not the issue.

No. Hannah the Wonder Dog is the issue.

Hannah, I must stress, is not my dog. She belongs to the family down the block and across the street. The family who doesn't believe in leashes, dog training, or, apparently, common sense. The family who routinely stand there while this scenario plays out, over and over again.

We come towards them, three big dogs in tow. Three dogs walking politely on their leashes, I must add. Their dog, Hannah, using her keen dog senses, spots 'friends'. Hannah, being unrestrained by either leash or word, races across the street to engage our dogs in happy sniffing. While we force our dogs to freeze, she races around us, while her owners call, "Hannah. Come back. Hannah." They don't call it too enthusiastically, either.

Hannah is either very excitable or very afraid of my dogs, or both. Because every time she races over for the sniff-fest, she pees.

Yesterday, she peed on my foot. While her horrible owners stood there and called from across the street, "Sorry!"

I called back, "Her coming over isn't so bad, but I'm not really thrilled about her peeing on me."

They smiled and waved and went inside.

I hate them.

But, no worries. I'll get even. I have three dogs. They do a lot of 'dog business'. And if some mysterious 'dog business' randomly shows up on Hannah's doorstep, well...who can say it wasn't her, taking an excitement dump?

Not me. Why, I have proof the dog can't help it. My shoe's still 'marked'.

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Welcome All Who Managed to Find Me Here

2009-01-19T20:56:00.000-08:00

Yes, yes, I know. Yet ANOTHER blog I may or may not update on a semi-regular basis. I know what you're thinking...but why? Was there a reason? At least a rhyme? Something that makes a modicum of sense?

Well...sorta.

See, there's this rumor that where else I blog might be on life support. And I know people who love it over here. And I can have artwork over here. And, you know, new year, new blog! Yeah, yeah, that's the ticket!

So, welcome, new and old, to the New and Improved Log of the Great Corrupter! Promising some kind of humor on some kind of regular basis, whether you need it or not.

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