Check it out
The entertaining and punchy Alex Moore interviews new author Cindy Pon. Check it out!
Cooties
The man who only gets a cold every-other year is sick. A couple of weeks ago I had a tummy thing going, but that’s just normal for me and my delicate tummy.
I am convinced one of the blogs I am reading, or a Twitter-er I am following, gave it to me. I want to blame a blogger who shall remain nameless (but her initials are Kiersten White)—but in truth that would be unfair. Throughout the month of February, basically every third post/tweet was ‘wow I feel bad.’ One poor woman even had pneumonia. Ick.
No, I just have your basic head cold, and it has made me tired and grumpy from the pain I am not used to feeling (in addition to, of course, whiny). It feels like there is a snot-producing machine in my head trying to force my eyeballs out of my sockets. Indeed, at any moment, I expect my eyeballs to go POP and fly out of my head, only to smack against the monitor.
Least that visual description is not up to your standards, let me elaborate with sound:
POP!
Splourch!
Eeeeeeeeeeee…
Thuthwich.
Drip… drip… drip.
No need to thank me, that’s just the kind of guy that I am.
The Twenty-Second of February
I share a birthday with George Washington, first President of the United States.
My fascination with President Washington extends all the way back to my childhood. My mother told me, “You were due on Lincoln’s birthday, but held out for Washington.” Growing up, I studied both men, and in my various American History classes, I became fascinated with their contributions to our society.
This day is also special for meeting a high school sweetheart. In a “getting to know your conference attendees”, we had to organize ourselves by birth date, only, without talking. After some initial confusion, I found myself in a silent partnership with a bit of the cuteness, standing there looking simultaneously impish, intelligent and very feminine. We had a torrid relationship, and so the male part of me associates my birthday with the nubile pretty.
Funny how now, I associate my birthday as the day I can take a nap without much interruption. It is the simple things in life for a family man. Indeed, the family holds more to the day than I do, for I just cannot think of it as my own, as the day the clock ticks over and suddenly my driver’s license tags me as being older. I can think of nothing I would rather do today then just be with them, and this is what I shall do.
No, I have always thought of this day belonging to Washington, and it is fitting, I think, I live in the state named after him in honor. History reveals Washington was a reluctant leader, and I admire the quality of the man. We can associate him with his actions, but there is a lot unsaid.
I can imagine General George Washington, in the middle of winter, looking through Valley Forge to the future. I can see him standing there, perhaps, on a little rise, thinking, “This really sucks. But in the spring, I will wage war on the enemy, and this land will be ours, free from tyranny.”
What a remarkable time that was! Sometimes, I wonder, if those memories we have of the great American Spirit are bittersweet, like the memory of that girl, also born on Washington’s Birthday, so long ago. Have we squandered something precious? For it is deeds, not words, that is the measure of men and women. Washington was a humble man who shirked the cult of personality, and as another year goes by and we are here at his birthday, I miss him.
Sunday Reflections, 22
“Arbitrary power is most easily established on the ruins of liberty abused to licentiousness.”
Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained?
People ask me what my favorite movie is, and I say, without reservations, Gladiator. Oh man, there is not one single good thing that happens in that movie to the protagonist. Not one happy thing, except, at the very end, when he dies and meets his family in the Fields of Elysium.
But I digress, for this is not a exposition on a journey to the bleak.
Lately, I have been reading published authors’ websites and essays. Many of it is a cheerful, welcome decent into humble gratefulness. Sometimes, I find playful arrogance, and who could fault anyone for that? Some people have a forward personality, and that is just their style.
Then I come across something that goes beyond arrogance. I see a distinct pretentiousness, which is, without a doubt, cliché. It is not arrogance; it is a lack of empathy—a lack of understanding of the different viewpoint.
So I did an experiment. I’ve read a few of their books, I sought them out. The prose is neigh perfect. The writing on the money, the characters interesting.
The books are mediocre, however, because they have no soul. They talk to me, but they do not engage me. They are hollow and shallow because they are trying to pretend to be something they are very not. I sometimes wonder, for whom did they write these books?
I’ve mentioned this before, here, that I am a greedy reader. I want entertainment and reflection. I want something that challenges me but also engages me. Color me with your reader brush, in the shade of thought. My thoughts. Not yours.
Luckily, I am an older man, and my library has reached critical mass. I can pull out a book that I have not read in almost two decades and go “Oh, yes, that was so good, give me more!”
Am I entertained? Only with a good story with a heart. Only with a good story with a heart.
Dawson vs. Fernando
Dawson vs. Fernando came to the Portland office as a Whole of Body case.
Mr. Dawson of Hazel Dell, Washington, owns a Boston terrier named “Skootie” (see Attachment A). Mr. Fernando, also of Hazel Dell, claimed that Skootie was “driving him absolutely mad with her incessant barking” (see Attachment B).
The Portland Office of Constitutional Enforcement received this complain earlier, and we referred Mr. Fernando to several local mediators operating in the Portland-Vancouver area. Mr. Dawson agreed to mediation. Mr. Fernando, however, claimed the mediators he talked to were too expensive to employ (see Attachment B). Mr. Fernando then repeatedly called the Portland Office for assistance.
In the Portland Office, a robust and unnecessary game of rock-paper-scissors ensued, in which I lost. Thus, the next morning I drove to Hazel Dell and waited in the neighborhood for the sun to come up, after a call to County Safety so they would not harass me in my morning barking stakeout.
I observed several interesting things on this fine spring morning (see Attachment C):
- Mr. Fernando lives in a well-kept house in a nice suburban neighborhood, driving a modern Toyota
- His wife, Ms. Lashmir, wore expensive clothing and drove away in a year-old Ford Mustang convertible (top down, hair in a scrunchy)
- Her car had a Starport of Portland parking barcode on it. Doing a quick goog search, Ms. Lashmir is the Second in Command of Accounting at SoP
At 07:15, the front door to Mr. Dawson’s residence opened and Skootie immediately ran out. The door closed, and I observed (see Attachment D):
- Skooite barks at many things. Birds, a jogger, a squirrel, the lamppost, a cat and an evil chew toy which refused to play with her
- Skootie ran, unhindered, to a neighbor’s yard (not Mr. Fernando), and took an enthusiastic morning poop in a flowerbed
- She then, with her back legs, tossed flowers and dirt willy-nilly, doing nothing to cover said poop but looking enormously pleased with herself
- After running around the neighborhood for fifteen minutes, Skootie then sat by the front door of the Dawson residence
- She whined repeatedly, looking forlorn and finally barked for five minutes until the door opened
Simialar activity occurred both in the afternoon and at night.
I repeated the Great Skootie Stakeout of Year 2 for an additional three days. I observed familiar behavior from Skootie on all the days, and did not observe at any time Mr. Dawson or Ms. Lashmir walking the Boston on a leash.
It is my judgment that Mr. Dawson is indeed in violation of the Whole of Body clause. His neglect of Skootie the dog causes inappropriate behavior that is disruptive to the neighborhood. On day three the barking was actually getting on my nerves.
I have seized Skootie to have her put down as menace animal. I handed my autopistol to Mr. Fernando, and told him he was in the right to do so and that was my Judgment. He refused.
Skootie is now orphaned through no fault of her own. For his failure to render Judgment as directed, I seized 10,000 credits from Mr. Fernando to pay for the upkeep of Skootie throughout her Boston life.
This is my Judgment, rendered with one Question. The Question is as follows:
Officer Gina: Oh my God, is that the dog? She is soooo cute! Look at that little face. I could just kiss that little face! What are you going to do with her?
Officer Scott: She’s my dog now. I’ve signed us both up for doggie training.
G: Give me the dog.
S: What? No. This is my dog.
G: You live in a high-rise apartment.
S: There is a very nice park by my building.
G: I live on five acres.
S: Gina, she’s not a big dog. Are you, Skootie? Who’s the little dog? Who is?
Skootie: Bark!
G: Scott, you are not a dog person.
S: I am too! Well, I could become one.
Skootie: Bark!
G: I Question your ability to properly give Skootie the squirrel chasing she deserves. Look at her. She is sad.
S: She’s a Boston! She looks sad even when she is happy! And are you Questioning my Judgment in this case?
G: Yes, I am.
S: Well, I will call a jury.
G: You wouldn’t dare.
S: Look, I have my PDA, I’m calling it right now.
G: I’ll give you visiting privileges.
S: Not good… um, like what?
G: Occasional weekends, no less than 1, no more than 3, a month. I will also let you walk Skootie when I have her here in the Office.
S: I want it in writing. And I want dinner when I come over. I also want the Judgment monetary seizure to go into a separate account, not your personal account.
G: Fine.
S: Fine.
Skootie: Bark!
S: How about the occasional breakfast?
G: Do I need to put that in the agreement too?
S: Only if you say yes.
Skootie: Bark!
Mr. Scott
Office of Constitution Enforcement
Portland, Oregon
May 17, 2
(from Landmark OCE Judgements of Mr. Scott, Tokyo University Press, 29)
Line edits
Line editing a large novel, yeah, that takes a while. If you were wondering what I am doing, well there you go.
I did send Your Little Sister, chapters 1 to 13, to my critique partner before I let The Wife Unit look at it.
Yeah, I got in trouble for that one.
I suspect minor flack from the Blog Harem (BH) as they wonder who my critique partner is, but, pschit, I cannot be concerned with such things right now.
In other news, I sent a smutty little story off to an editor to consider in an anthology. It was a lot of fun to write, and now, I suspect, I will get even more flack for not showing this short to the WU nor the BH.
Just remember, folks, I am a tease. I’ve had years of practice at this. Years.
Sunday Reflections, 21
“If men are to be precluded from offering their sentiments on a matter which may involve the most serious and alarming consequences that can invite the consideration of mankind, reason is of no use to us; the freedom of speech may be taken away, and dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.”
Three ways, email style
I was there for the advent of email. Thus, I have seen, and done my share, of bone-head email tricks. The most (In)famous: TonyP vs. TonyPa
At work, there was TonyP. Not me. Then there was TonyPa. That was me. My last name was “Pacheco”. His last name was “Paulson”. You can see where this is going.
And oh my, did we receive the misrouted email. We were both young and single, and we dated in our industry, so the email, my God, the email. After a year we just resorted to Carbon Copying each other, it was too funny to pass that up.
From: Shannon
To: TonyPa
Subject: I’m not…
Wearing underwear today. How about you?
***********
From: TonyPa
To: Shannon
CC: TonyP
Subject: RE: I’m not…
I’m good thanks.
***********
From: Shannon
To: TonyP
CC: TonyPa
Subject: RE: I’m not…
Kill me now.
Then there was the infamous “date”.
To: TonyP
From: Cheryl
Subject: Thanks for the good time
I don’t normally put out on the first date, so I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of slut. You’re just really cute, that’s all. When can I see you again? I keep thinking about you.
***********
To: Cheryl
From: TonyP
CC: TonyPa
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
I’m free this Friday.
***********
From: Cheryl
To: TonyP
CC: TonyPa
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
Oh my God, sorry I am so embarrassed.
***********
To: Cheryl
From: TonyP
CC: TonyPa
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
Does that mean we’re not going out on Friday?
***********
To: TonyP
From: TonyPa
CC: Cheryl
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
No, you are not.
Then, the wine mail.
From: Renee
To: TonyPa
Subject: Wine
What kind of wine can I bring over for dinner?
***********
From: TonyPa
To: Renee
CC: TonyP
Subject: Wine
Tony likes a dry red, as I recall.
***********
From: Renee
To: TonyPa
Subject: Wine
Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?
***********
From: Renee
To: TonyPa
CC: TonyP
Subject: Wine
Never mind, I am retarded.
Then things just came to their predictable conclusion.
To: TonyPa
From: TonyP
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
It’s been a couple of months. Are you still going out with Cheryl?
***********
To: TonyP
From: TonyPa
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
No. Go for it. Just be warned she’s a bit, um, pushy.
***********
To: TonyPa
From: TonyP
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
Is she hot?
***********
To: TonyP
From: TonyPa
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
Dude, she’s like supermodel. But, um, pushy. But go for it. Please.
***********
To: TonyPa
From: TonyP
Subject: RE: Thanks for the good time
Thanks man.
I always wondered if TonyP and Cheryl ever went anywhere.
Somedays, You’re the Bitch
(O_O)
At least she did not give my blog Google Cooties this time.
I am just a little hack writer,
Pay not attention to me.
I am just a little hackwriter,
Sleeping beneath your honey tree.
Drive Around in Circles
In my circle of friends, I am infamous for putting myself in strange situations, usually from a bone-headed maneuver on my part.
A couple of years ago, I bought a new SUV to replace the older one we drove into the ground with winter driving.
Now, before I am flamed for having a SUV, please note I do not live in an urban environment. There were days last year where I left the SUV in 4×4 mode rather than front wheel drive. There were days where I drove past perma-stuck all-wheel-drive station wagons without the weight or the clearance to drive forth. It is a bit more than a comparison to fire insurance on your home; I use that sucker and still do. Yesterday, I had to go 4×4 to get to the main road so I could go to work.
Then, I refuse the situation where at any given time; I cannot stuff the family in the car and GTFO under any conditions, but that is a different discussion.
But I digress.
So here I am in my fancy new Ford Explorer, feeling peppy and doing about a day’s worth of errands. The SUV has an on-board computer that gives you messages. While waiting at a stoplight, I decided to see what some of them were.
Halfway through my fascinating look at how many miles I have left before the tank is empty and other such details like total driving time, the light turns green. I decide to test out the user interface and see if I can change the computer display while looking at the road.
A couple of button presses later, the display turns angry orange and tells me:
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
Excuse me?
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
Uh, what?
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
Okaaaay. Obviously, I pressed something better left not pressed. I ignored the computer until my next stop, and I get out the user manual and proceed to read about the settings.
Only, there was nothing in there about that message.
I turn the SUV off and back on.
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
I decide to ignore it. It is noon and I have about three hours to go. At home, I can just Google it.
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
But I do not want to!
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
An hour later:
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
After visiting Home Depot:
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
After picking up coffee:
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
After picking up some things for the Wife Unit:
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
On the way to the grocery store:
DRIVE AROUND IN CIRCLES
I scream. It sounds like this: “AHHHHH!’
At the grocery store parking lot, I drive to an empty area and, as I commanded, drove around in circles. I circle a big parking lot lamp. THREE TIMES.
Finally, I get the message:
COMPASS CALIBRATED
Oh.
The moral of this story?
Sometimes you have to drive around in circles.
Literally.
The Lover
From my world building notebook for Your Little Sister:
***
Her lover is punctual, showing up at her doorstep the very minute she requested his presence.
If she told him, “Come over for dinner at 7:00,” sure enough, at 7:00 PM the bell would ring, and there he would be, all smiles and handsome and holding a bottle of wine.
Other than his spooky knack at punctuality, her lover was a free spirit. He was malleable in many areas. Where they went, when they went out, was her purview. One time she tested him and scheduled a chick flick, then the next date the opera, and finally, a book reading and signing for some sappy book. He enjoyed each and was charming and gracious to everyone he met.
She would have considered him one of those ‘yes’ men that would say ‘yes’ to anything as long as the end of the date he was between her legs. He had absolutes that seemed to absolve him from a limp-noodle nice guy label. For instance, he disliked driving, and he would grump like a spoiled brat when she made him. He did not eat sweet things—he avoided sugar. He had the habit of rubbing his head when he was nervous, which was rare, but he did do it, it was somewhat cute.
One time, he called her to see if she could pick up soup for him. He was sick. She lived in his small apartment for three days, nursing him back to health. He was not infallible, but he seemed strange in a way, as if his life was perfect with not an unhappy thought in his head. For a living, he was a hotel manager, which seemed to suit him well. He loved people.
She envied his life outlook—a simple man, with simple needs. When they made love, he was simultaneously generous and needy. He had a keen sense of pushing her buttons until she was mindlessly moaning and panting. The man was definitely addictive in that regard, his timing was near perfect.
Which is why, when she overslept from her nap, she was very surprised that he did not wake her up by ringing the bell, or calling her if she did not hear it.
This worried her, but she was not prone to panic, merely a frown aimed at herself in the mirror as she quickly took a shower and got dressed. The moment she turned off the hairdryer and decided to call him, the doorbell rang, and she jumped. Goosebumps appeared on her arm, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand out, and then she actually shuddered.
She peeked out the peephole and there he was. She opened the door and smiled as he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you psychic?” It was a silly question, but she had to ask.
He actually laughed at her, a warm laugh, both inviting and infuriating.
“Ah, no.”
“Well, how did you know I overslept from my nap?”
He came in and closed the door. “That would be because you are the one that is psychic.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You. You broadcasted your desire to meet later, so I simply showed up later.”
Now she giggled. “You’re being silly.”
“Hey, when you think things, I am powerless to resist your superior mind powers.”
“Bah! Isn’t that something like love?”
“Of course it is, and I do love you. I have for quite some time, but have been too afraid to say it. But your obvious powers of psychic manipulation propel me to confess my true feelings for you.”
She opened her mouth and subsequently was speechless, so she closed it rather than stand there looking like a dork. She threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh, I love you too, you silly man!”
Later, after the sweaty love making they skipped dinner for, in her dark bedroom filled with the earthy smell of sex, she suddenly realized he was serious. She rolled over and smacked him.
“Ow!” he said, coming awake. “What was that for?”
“I am not psychic!”
“Whatever,” he said, rolling over and putting his head under his pillow. He did that when she wore him out and he wanted to sleep.
She lay there contemplating his snarkitude.
Why don’t you roll back over and make love to me again, she thought at him, feeling stupid, but putting every ounce of desire she had for him into her thought.
When he rolled over and cupped her breast, it was then she knew she was in trouble.
Sunday Reflections, 20
“Dictators ride to and fro upon tigers which they dare not dismount. And the tigers are getting hungry.”
Ms. Sylvia vs. Gary Drummond and Kari Drummond
(from my world-building notebook)
In the matter of Sylvia, formally Sylvia Drummond of Lake Oswego, Oregon vs. Gary Drummond and Kari Drummond—also of Lake Oswego—I find for Ms. Sylvia’s claims as petitioned in totality.
Ms. Silvia, at age of thirteen, successfully made her Declaration and moved out of her childhood home. Her first action as an Adult was to claim her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, violated her Constitutional rights, specifically Whole of Body clauses. She petitioned the Portland Office of Constitutional Enforcement (OCE) and was successful in making her case.
Ms. Silvia requires extensive gene therapy to correct several abnormalities caused by in-vitro chromosome manipulation (see Attachment A) to bring about heightened intelligence and a physical appearance that can classified as “beautiful” by current societal norms.
While Ms. Silvia is indeed beautiful, and is smart, she suffers from potentially fatal grand mal seizures because of a defective nervous system that is a side effect of this particular type of DNA recoding (see Attachment B).
That her parents were paying for her medical bills as her primary caregiver, and were no longer required to when she Declared, is immaterial. The time the damage occurred to Ms. Silvia’s body is also irrelevant. The relevant facts for finding are:
- Ms. Silvia is an Adult
- Her biological parents caused her body on going, and potentially fatal, harm
Gary Drummond and Kari Drummond violated their daughter’s Constitutional Rights as outlined in Section 2 (Whole of Body), Clauses 1 through 4. Their actions were both short-sided and malicious; as Mr. Drummond is on record (see Attachment C) admitting, “We wanted the perfect child to run the family business.”
The mitigating circumstances of this case are, essentially, Ms. Silvia was less of a daughter and more of a tool grown in a vat and then implanted in her mother. They declined to give her gene therapy, as this could change her heightened mental capacity, and were only treating the symptoms of Ms. Sylvia’s artificial condition. Gene manipulation to create what is essentially a family slave, dependent on medical care necessitated by that very manipulation, is extremely repugnant and arguably violates the Constitution’s Whole of Body Slavery Clause, for which the penalty is Death.
Ms. Silvia, however, does not support a Death Warrant. While OCE does not require her support in a Slavery violation case, the totality of the situation requires me to set aside this potential Charge.
I have seized all of the Drummond’s assists, rendered their instruments on the trade market, and allocated them to Ms. Silvia. Because of the violation to Article 1 of Section 2 by both Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, the People at Large have suffered harm. Both parents are henceforth declared personae non gratae for the duration of thirteen years, the time Ms. Sylvia spent as their daughter and ward.
This is my Judgment rendered fully with no Question.
Mr. Scott
Office of Constitution Enforcement
Portland, Oregon
February 05, 14
(from Landmark OCE Judgements of Mr. Scott, Tokyo University Press, 29)
Fun 1, Outline 0
Your Little Sister is a fun, whimsical story, with a side of grim and a smattering of hot smut—befitting a story about a woman with four husbands investigating a double homicide.
The outline I am using, however, fostered a dark story. Your Little Sister needs to be fun and entertaining. I think the madness of the recession bled through my plotting.
I have tossed the old outline today, which was not hard, as it exists solely in my head. I actually did some plotting a world-building on real paper. Imagine that!
Yes, I am making Your Little Sister more—perky.
This has been a public service by Anthony Pacheco, Hack Writer.
Young Adult Science Fiction Dreams of My Youth
Sylvia Louise Engdahl’s books really dug into my little developing brain back then, and I am re-reading her wonderful books. The current one at the top of the book pile is The Far Side of Evil.
This book is so good it hurts. Literally. It is a book a writer reads and thinks, “My prose will never be that good.”
In my younger days, this would have sunk me into a depression. I would have quit writing. How could I ever hope to master The Craft to the point where every single word on every single page sings with a compelling story the way Engdahl’s prose pierces one’s heart?
Now I am older, and sometimes wiser, or at least occasionally coherent, or, perhaps, slyly contemplative. I can wallow in the world of limitations because I can see beyond those very self-imposed limitations. The blankness of the screen before me begs for letters. The letters are composed of words, then sentences, and suddenly a story is there, almost like magic, but it is not magic, it is me, raw me. I cannot stop this wondrous ability anymore than I could stop breathing.
My prose will never be that good. The standard, however, is set. Like Engdahl’s visionary fiction, I can see beyond the line I used to draw for myself. Sometimes I close my eyes and see stars made of words, and the words swirl around like fire-motes in a sunspot, singing music in a timeless dance of fire and passion.
Dreaming of Seven
Keith (named changed to protect the guilty) was an odd friend of mine that I used to know in Charlotte. He was esoteric. One day we were talking about dreams and he said, “You know something weird? I think for guys we dream seven years in the past.”
‘Wait… what?”
“If a guy dreams about something other than sex, it’s usually something that happened seven years ago.”
“Dude. You have lost it.”
Now the conversation descended into barbed insults on my capabilities to dream about something other than women. But I digress.
You know, I think Keith was on to something. I think he is right in a way. First, I believe he was on to something about the differences between men and women in the way we dream. Then, he might have been right in the delay. I seem to be dreaming of babies, and not in a generic way. As in my kids, when they were that little. I do not think this is something like sub-conscious baby lust either. Recently, I had a dream and I did not see the baby, but I called my wife on my cell phone to talk to her about bringing home diapers, which morphed into some odd dream about getting lost on the way to the grocery store.
I have been pondering dreams lately. Sometimes I have a lucid dream. Now before you can say “wow that sounds kind of cool,” I can assure you that it is a bit frightening. It feels like an unnatural state, and when one wakes up, it is confusing, especially if I am home alone. Indeed, one of the benefits of marriage is awaking suddenly from a bad dream, and finding comfort in the quiet, sleeping form of your spouse.
I wonder sometimes, that we, as a society, focus on the visceral and things we can touch. What if real exploration happens behind the eyes when sleeping? Is setting foot on Mars the ultimate goal for my generation, or does our exploratory path lie inward?
Sunday Reflections, 19
“Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.”
