Just a marvelous, marvelous book. Prince Ombra by Roderick MacLeish, a novel I read over twenty years ago, certainly stands the test of time.
What a wondrous story about Good vs. Evil, destiny vs. free will and in the end, a parable about overcoming self-doubt and passiveness.
If fantasy or classic YA literature floats your boat, Prince Ombra is the cat’s meow.
I, dear reader, have the first edition hardcover. I love my library. I cannot wait until my children suddenly realize their old playroom is a treasure trove of fiction goodness.
One day I came home and there was The Wife Unit, glaring at me. No one, and I mean no one, can out-glare Southern Girl Blonde.
“I found some of YOUR magazines under our son’s bed!” she said in an accusatory tone.
I wrack my brain. Did Thing One find some ancient porno mags, of which I did not even remember purchasing, in some forgotten box in the closet in the library?
She waves the offending magazines at me, most likely repressing an urge to smack with them:
At that moment, I was a satisfied, smug, proud father. Thing One, I knew, would turn into a great man, a caring, protective husband and father.
Thing One is not feeling well today. No writing this Friday, he’s going to want his Daddy. After he goes to bed, I’m reading a book.
No more blogging today either! You 7.3 readers, you come back tomorrow!
The cat is a killing machine.
Wife saw a bobcat today. It looked like a very large domestic cat with spots, a nifty tail and a fuzzy face. We actually have a pixie bob as a house cat, so said lynx looked like a larger version of Tigger (said pixie bob).
Q: What’s the difference between a bobcat and a cougar?
A: The reclusive cougar thinks you’re tasty.
Seeing a bobcat is a special treat out here in the boonies. If you ever see a wild cougar, well, she’s just taunting you before ripping you to pieces after stalking you for several hours.
Thankfully, cougars are very reclusive. The next time one complains about the behavior of the common house cat, just remember: little fluffy is the descendant of a shark with fur.
This public service announcement has been brought to you by Anthony Pacheco, The Hack Writer. No need to thank me, that’s just the kind of guy I am.
No sooner did I blog about a second-hand suggestion from Wil Wheaton about writing (for example, his latest post), then I saw him at PAX. He was at his booth with his friends, not talking to any PAX attendee. No one was coming up to talk to him!
I so so desperately wanted to go up to talk to him about writing, but alas, that was not meant to be. I had with me Thing One, and he was expired, tired with dropping blood sugar. As any parent with a child like this would tell you, the singular goal in such situation is getting home as soon as possible for a meal composed of real food. To ignore Thing One’s necessary nutrition intake was to invite disaster.
Maybe next year! What a stange small world we now live in…
My new workout routine: Follow the 3rd Grader all over the Seattle Convention Center from 11 to 5. Zip zip zip zip zip!
My poor feet. And ears. Andy eyes. At one point, Thing One played a game that made me motion sick. Thus, I knew I was an offical Old Fart.
<insert Jaws “Shark Theme” music here>
Coming along nicely. Soon my precious, soon. Next up: the bad guys gain ground but <spoiler deleted>.
Tomorrow: PAX. Thing One’s favorite part of the year, game that junkie he is. This year we are bringing our DSes.
Here ya go Sven.
KABOOM KABOOM KABOOM went Lauren’s monstrous handgun. Michael and Terrance actually stopped firing, holstered and stared at her. It was the first time they were at the range with Lauren, having arranged with one of Joseph’s boys to cover for them in a little shift swap.
“Whot?” she asked when she realized she was the center of attention.
“What the fuck is that… thing?” Michael asked. She had worn a Glock 19 on her hip to the range, but she definitely was not using it. Neither man recognized the handgun, although the slide looked vaguely Glock 17ish with an extended barrel poking well out the slide.
“Oh this?” she asked innocently in exaggeration. “This little thing tis me sidearm. I call ‘em Evil Bob.”
“I repeat myself. What is that?”
“Tis is a Glock 20 with the factory six-inch hunting barrel and X300 Surefire that you gave me. I ordered the frame custom; it is a pure titanium rig. The trigger is standard but I did do a polish job on it so tis a might smoother than the normal Glock trigger. I added the Heinie figure-eight sights and a Crimson Trace 1911 rig. Right now I be shooting DoubleTap range ammo.”
Michael was speechless.
Terrance actually heard of the after-market Glock 1911 style frames. “Uh, why titanium and not stainless steel?”
Lauren ejected the magazine and cleared her firearm. She handed it to Terrance who checked it again and then studied it in earnest. The grip was pure 1911 but the entire firearm felt… strange. Heavier than it should be. The balance was weird.
“Okay, I give. I don’t get it. This feels like a steel rig but the frame is obviously titanium.”
Michael also examined it. Even though both Lauren and Terrance had cleared the weapon, he followed his training and assumed they were DEA agents professional enough to handle a Glock 40.
Also noting its strange balance, he frowned and handed it back to her.
“You got me,” he admitted. “This is heavier than it should be unless you are pulling our leg about titanium.”
She took it back. “See the little metal cavity plug ya normally see on Glocks? This frame has one of those too. This plug ets permanent. I welded it in place after filling the unused cavity to 90% capacity with liquid mercury after plug’n the other end with a custom bit of titanium. The result tis perfection. My perfection. As long as you have long fingers like me, you will not encounter a better handgun. Anywhere.”
“Liquid mercury?” Terrance repeated, stupidly.
“You welded titanium yourself?” asked Michael, almost as stupid.
Lauren merely smiled. It was predatory. Almost if she had fangs and wanted to bite them. “You think that’s good? You should see me Coulaux Freres dueling sword. Now that ‘tis a weapon!”
Michael and Terrance looked at each other and then went down on their knees. They started genuflecting.
“We are not worthy!” said Terrance.
“We are but worms!” said Michael.
Lauren laughed a rich deep Irish woman laugh. “Ya know if I actually found men attractive that would be fook’n hawt.”
I am back from vacation. The blogging will now continue…