And here...we...go

Victory is mine. That's a lot of cereal. We will be eating Cheerios, Lucky Charms, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch for a long while. There are still 2 little guys in the stupid Cinnamon Toast Crunch (they packages them inside the cereal bag). With that kicking joker, things are just a little more right in the world. I love toys.

Writers' Rooms

x-posted to facebook and writer's group

Writers' Rooms. I particularly like Antonia Fraser's room and A.S. Byatt's room (above). Edna O'Brien's is interesting too. Whose do you like best? :)

Turkey Vulture Update

I have investigated the Turkey Vulture situation more, and we DO get to name it. So, let's start thinking of name suggestions! Unfortunately, we cannot adopt an orphaned vulture because you're not supposed to from July to October or something. But we can still get an adult in need. Think think think. What's a good turkey vulture name? I named the one that's been flying around here "The 1, 2, Teddy" (Teddy for short), so that's not an option if you were considering it. Whatever the name, we shall most definitely add "Esq." to the end of it.

travis8138: i see. i'd like the group to consider "mr. jingles" as a name. just off the top of my head. i'm not passionate about it.

So far, our contributors are me, Steve, Sara, Michael, Travis, Dennis (I won't link to him since I don't know if he likes to be linked to), Diane (hello Mother!), and Denise. If you know anyone who would like to get those last two spots, let them know the Turkey Vulture needs their loving kindness!

The Majestic Turkey Vulture and You!

Dear Friends and Loved Ones,

You have a unique opportunity today. I am raising money for a worthy cause. I want to adopt a turkey vulture. If just 8 7 4 3 2 more of you commit to giving $10 to the turkey vulture cause, we 10 people can adopt a truly majestic creature. We will receive an adoption certificate (like a Cabbage Patch Kid!), receive pictures of him, and follow his progress in the rehabilitation center through email updates! And as if that weren't enough! Once my Christmas turkey vulture story is complete, you will receive a copy. Oh my. Act now to secure your position in the turkey vulture adoption community!

Let me share some interesting and important facts about the majestic turkey vulture with you! From Turkey Vulture Society:

"The Turkey Vulture is gentle and non-aggressive."

"The turkey vulture has few natural predators. Its primary form of defense is vomiting. The birds do not "projectile vomit," as many would claim. They simply cough up a lump of semi-digested meat. This foul smelling substance deters most creatures intent on raiding a vulture nest. It will also sting if the offending animal is close enough to get the vomit in its face or eyes."

"The turkey vulture often directs its urine right onto its legs. This serves two very important purposes. In the summertime, wetting the legs cools the vulture, as the urine evaporates. (The vulture cannot sweat like us). In addition, this urine contains strong acids from the vulture's digestive system, which kill any bacteria that may remain on the bird's legs from stepping in its meal."

"The turkey vulture is one of the only birds in North America with a sense of smell. This vulture relies both on its keen eyesight and powerful nose to search out food."

As you can see, the turkey vulture is no ordinary bird. It is a bird of somber splendor often described as "stately," "of unceasingly good nature," and "epic." Rather than asking yourself "Why should I adopt a turkey vulture," ask yourself "Why haven't I ever adopted a turkey vulture before?" If ya can't beat the Riz, ask yourself, "What Would Jesus Do?" I believe you'll find that the answer to that question is a resounding "He would undoubtedly adopt a Turkey Vulture."

Oh detestable maggotry

The house is fairly clean, no thanks really to me. I went to bed at midnight, dreading another day spent in the cave. I woke up at 5 am in need of the assistance of my kind, ozone-killing inhaler. Soon after falling back asleep and dreaming of getting sushi (One spicy tuna roll, please. Oooh, and tamago), I woke up and had to get ready for work.

I haven't had enough time to read lately. I go to work, get home around 5 something, don't feel like doing anything, go to bed at midnight, get up at 6, go to work, lather, rinse, repeat. Sara got a writer's blog going, and stories for that are due soon. I have had even less time to write, though I have created a file with the title Zombie Christmas a story for clever children ages 6-11. It has a masquerade in it. A "traditional" Christmas masquerade.

The healing power of the LOLcats is the only thing that can save this blog post now. It's time to ask yourself what you believe...

It does not follow

I'm not a LOLer. No, I am a heh-er. Or a hehe-er. It depends on how funny it is. I just noticed the status of someone on facebook. It says it was their first day in grad school. If the girl who offered me 100 bucks to write an English final for her when she was a senior and I was a sophomore can get into grad school, maybe I can too! Dear internet, when I try to find interactive super awesome resources on the renaissance, you need to throw me a bone. I can't suggest geoshitties with purple lightning backgrounds and animated gif dancing wenches. I imagine pond or lake ice for ice skating being of better quality than skating rinks. Thicker, full of imperfections, postcard-ready. I hate when fake mouths talk in high-pitched voices in commercials. Oh you, Christine!. Snips and snails, and I am tired of getting up at 6 am tales. The morning and I do not agree. It says honey mustard, I say ranch. It flys off the handle, I calmly eat cashews. I am not fond of cartoon pictures of running cats or turkeys. I don't really want to save the world.

I'm tired of dreaming of you

but it's the only place I get to see you. And we never say a word. And I wake up tired, growl at the sunshine, and put on my face.

"Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build."

Fuck that noise.

The day began with death

I got in the shower this morning and came face to face with an enormous spider. I jumped out of the shower, dripping wet, and got a shoe. Starting the day off with a massive fucking adrenaline rush = no good. They say that spiders and other creepy crawly creatures are "more afraid of you than you are of them." This is bullshit. "They" don't know my fear.

Because this is beautiful and sweet...

...and the world can always use more love.


Photo: Same-sex couple Del Martin (L) and Phyllis Lyon (R) exchange rings as they are married by San Francisco mayor Gavin Newsom in a private ceremony at San Francisco City Hall June 16, 2008 in San Francisco, California. Martin and Lyon were the first couples to be married in San Francisco as same-sex marriages become legal in California. By Marcio Jose Sanchez-Pool/Getty Images.

7

Happy Birthday.

You'll never need another sound

Normally I have very good skin, not hideous at all. However, this summer, something terrible has happened. I know not how. I'm breaking out like crazy. I look horrendous. I want to hide under a rock. Two rocks. Three. The internet tells me I should eat flax seeds, salmon, walnuts, spinach and drink lots of water. My schwester Scarah recommends making pumpkin or bran flaxseed muffins. It doesn't help that this ravaged skin is coupled with bouts of allergic reactions which cause swelling of my face and the most grouchy disposition I have to offer the world. I take the allergy medicine to no avail. I down Advil like crazy to reduce swelling. My insurance doesn't cover allergy testing or allergy shots. Hell, it barely covers anything. Not even eyeballs or teeth. The school wants me to suffer. No doubt they consider it a just sentence for one prone to hyperbole. Anyone with advice on how to combat the evil that is summer, please share.

Here is a wish--no, a dream--I have: A gorgeous bread machine with which to use my many pioneering skills to make whole wheat bread that will fill the house with its rich aromas and happiness. And I will be like Laura Ingalls Wilder, but with electricity, two computers, and a library.

I spend too much money on books. Most of it is by way of shipping, not actually the price of the books themselves. I must use the library more. I shall. Determination. Commitment. Constant vigilance. No sooner do I type this, than I see that a book which I have never seen for a price lower than $60 available for 9.99 + s&h. Must...resist...Robert Todd Lincoln...book.

Work starts tomorrow at the ungodly hour of 8:45. I'm attempting to get sleepy, but so far I have failed.

06131980

Happy Birthday.

Oh hell

Last night I dreamed that John Ritter was chasing me around my backyard. He kept saying he wanted to talk to me. I told him, "1. You're dead and 2. When you were on Walton's Mountain, you burned books." He told me that was what the script said. I told him that was no excuse. I just knew he wanted to have one of those emo talks like in Slingblade, and I adamantly refused to talk to him, darting behind one of the overgrown blackberry bushes in the yard.

The frenzied pace of the mind inside the cell

I'm a little tired of watching those moths beat their little bodies against the window. Of waiting for my hair to dry. Of those contemptuous mouths that never close. We keep on breathing, and we ask them, when will you stop, between in and out, oxygen and carbon dioxide. Open. And. Close. I tell myself there isn't anything I wouldn't say. But the list is growing longer each day. I'm a wealth of random information. And there's an unfinished prophet poem in the folder. I don't have goals. I fall in love twice a day, maybe more. I say, Dear Oedipa, you were never ever a typical, white, middle class housewife. Somewhat is right. You were never; don't let them tell you otherwise. Inverarity would never have. At least, not how he was in my head.

I killed a tiny cockroach today. His name was Elmer. He had two children, and he worked as an inspector of mistletoe-related products. It was his time to go, for he entered my kitchen without permission. I do not have a dutch oven. If only he had known that before he came looking for one, feet clad in respectable republican shoes to match Pat Nixon's respectable Republican cloth coat. She'd look good in anything. Elmer, however, is quite another story. Don't worry, Tricky Dick, we believe you. After all, we wouldn't give up a duppy pog like that either.

My intentions are anything but good.

Useless test

My Personality

Neuroticism	39
Extraversion	3
Openness to Experience	80
Agreeableness	57
Conscientiousness	46

You rarely get angry and it takes a lot to make you angry, however you tend to lack energy and have difficult initiating activities. People generally perceive you as distant and reserved, and you do not usually reach out to others. You tend not to express your emotions openly and are sometimes not even aware of your own feelings. You do not like to claim that you are better than other people, and generally shy from talking yourself up, however you generally see others as selfish, devious, and sometimes potentially dangerous. You strive hard to achieve excellence. Your drive to be recognized as successful keeps you on track toward your lofty goals. You often have a strong sense of direction in life, but may sometimes be too single-minded and obsessed with your work.

Take a Personality Test now or view the full Personality Report.

Pontoffel Pock, where the heck are you?

Last night I slept for over 8 hours. It was wonderful. I had Writing Center dreams, but that's okay. I have accomplished very little today, the biggest thing being I finally watched Rosemary's Baby. I'm still not sure why Ruth Gordon got an Oscar for that, but oh well. Polanski makes good movies. Satan shouldn't rape people. But we all know that. And I was referring to the movie, not to Mr. Polanski's own unfortunateness. I still haven't finished my study guide for the literacy studies test. In fact, it's not even half done because there's just so much of everything. Of everything!

The last few days I have seen a turkey vulture hanging around the front yard. I want to get a picture of him. I haven't decided what to name him yet. I'm leaning towards Teddy.

I finished Russian on Friday. Forever. It's a good feeling. Asian thought is finished at noon tomorrow. Two more finals and I shall be free to enjoy a few days before starting work again.

The idea of reading as an aural rather than visual perception sort of creeps me out. Hearing cuneiform? Hallucinating from looking at picture-symbols? No thank you, sir.

My desk looks like a tornado hit it with all of these handouts, copied book chapters, and books about literacy. They're covering everything. Literacy is everywhere. Heather isn't a dolphin. I know, I know; it would be way cooler if she were. I had a scribal society article here just a second ago...Purves, where are you? Haha, No doubt with Pontoffel Pock's piano! You see, Pontoffel Pock worked at a pickle factory, but when he pushed on the pull'em and pulled on the push'em, he was let go. After he makes a wish, McGillicutty and his fairy associates give Mr. Pock a magic piano that allows him to visit worlds other than his own (thus escaping his miserable lacking-pickle-job existence), but misfortune befalls him when he falls madly in love with a harem girl and the homing pigeon switch on his piano breaks, and the harem girl falls off the piano in flight. He proceeds to royally piss off the fairies. Eventually Pontoffel Pock goes back to working at the pickle factory. Good god, Suess wrote some weirdass shit. I can't believe I own this VHS.

Oooh! Pick me! Pick me!

Really. I will write a real entry soon.

And how!

One day soon, I'll write a real entry.

You eat, you sleep, you breathe something delicious

I could have told you, Vincent...

I have a paper due Monday. I have had three weeks to write it. I'm starting now. Perhaps I type too fast. I keep getting ahead of myself in typing. "May contain" becomes "main." "Grow out" becomes "grout." Jump jump. Sometimes I will type an entire word backwards. The other day I typed "ysub" and "drednuh." It's 2 am. I've written four pages and feel as though I haven't said a damn thing about the literacy narrative I'm analyzing. This is not a good sign. Sometimes I wonder how I've even gotten this far, given all the crap I've written. It makes me wonder if I'm cut out for grad school. Maybe it would just be better to move on out into the "real" world and all its scowl-worthiness. The problem is that I've been there, and I have no idea if a BA is really going to make a helluva difference in trying to find a job. I don't want another shit job that I'll loathe the thought of going to and will have to drag myself to every day. I envy all those people with their goals, their passions. I don't have time to read comfort books (less fattening than comfort foods). Dead week is on the way. "I should have been a pair of ragged claws. Scuttling across the floors of silent seas."

Miss Marjie's tsk tsk of the day goes to the user on PokerStars with the KKK user pic. The kudos of the day go to the PokerStars support staff who responded within the hour to Miss Marjie's email, removed the image and apologized for having missed it in the screening process. They're good like that.

My paper is on life support right now, and I fear that not even inclusion of another literacy metaphor could save it. It's time to give up on it for the night. There may be permanent damage. I don't believe in miracles--especially not in writing.