Devouring Some Good Books

Honestly, this has been one of “those” weeks for me, and I’m not even sure why; I just know that it has been, and that stress fractures are starting to show in my psyche.  Case in point:

Around my dinner time earlier this week, L. wanted me to play out on the porch with him.  (He had already eaten, you see.)  Since my dinner was in a bowl, I figured it would be easy enough to humor him and still eat, so I told him I just needed to get my shoes, and then we’d go play.  Lala (who hadn’t heard this exchange), looks up to see me getting my shoes, and asks me where I’m going.

“I’m running away from home,” I told her.

“With a bowl of food in your hands?” she asked.

“I don’t want to get hungry on the road,” I haughtily sniffed.

“Shouldn’t you have some books in a knapsack or something?” she inquired.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I sneered.  “That would taste terrible!”

My New Favorite Editorial Note

As anyone who knows me already knows, I am far from averse to using “strong” language in person or in my writing when I feel the situation warrants it to add humor, emotional emphasis and/or fair warning that would be impossible to add another way.  I never swear just for the sake of swearing though; I find that lazy, and after a while excessive use of any word becomes smurfing annoying to me.  When I do something, even swearing, I like to do it right and to maximum effect.

Which is precisely why an editorial note I recently received regarding a page from my current story amused the hell(1) out of me:  “Hyphenate POS.”(2)

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(1) Let the record show that I didn’t even consider resisting this one.

(2) If you can’t guess the full phrase I used, you’re not old enough to know it.

Seeing Red

Agree or disagree with what is happening on social networking sites right now, I must protest labeling it the derogatory term “slacktivism.”

In a fine example of a straw man argument, I have heard it sneered that, “It’s not like this is going to influence the Supreme Court’s decision.”  While that is certainly true as far as it goes, let me put it to you this way:

Flying a flag at half-mast doesn’t make anyone less dead either; it’s simply a show of respect.

If you respect that, then perhaps you’ll earn some respect for yourself the next time you take a public stand on something.

They Probably Meant “Fabulous,” But The Joke Remains The Same

So it was time to pour out the spam trap for this site again(*), and hidden amongst the usual “enhancements” chatter and ads masquerading as compliments and/or questions, the sparkle off one gem in particular caught my eye seeing as it informed me that I have “touched some fastidious things here.”

To that I just want to say, thanks for reading, spambot . . . but let’s keep my private life out of this, okay?

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(*)  You’re welcome for that image, by the way.

New Category

When I started my publication schedule on my website, I know I said I was going to keep things simple at the time, and become more shameless about making a big deal out of it once I got comfortable with the routine, but certain signs have made it clear to me that I’ve been playing my cards a little too close to my chest.

So this is the official announcement of a new category here on Candles & Curses, namely “Shameless Self-Promotion.”  From time to time I’m going to be using it for its obvious purpose, particularly when I start and/or stop a new story because it turns out my own mother didn’t know I’d been posting my work.

No joke.

I’ve just got to get better at mentioning little things like this!

Far, Far Worse

As distressing as it can be to discover that a cherished urban/internet legend is, in fact, not true, I think most of us, consciously or otherwise, expect that.  It’s far worse when one discovers that a truly horrific legend does, in fact, actually have some basis in truth.

It’s Just Not Pithy Enough

As I picked Lala up from work today, I heard her thanking a co-worker for scratching her back.  On the way out the door I reminded her that by the law of common sayings, she was obligated to scratch their back in return.

“But I already scratched [another co-worker]’s back!” she told me.

When I replied that I was pretty sure that’s not the way it worked, she informed me that after she had scratched the second co-worker’s back, the second co-worker bought the first co-worker tacos, then she asked me if that counted.

I had to concede that it might, but that I wasn’t sure that “Scratch my back and I’ll scratch someone else’s and they’ll buy you tacos,” would ever really catch on.

Yeah . . .

I was once told (with an unknown degree of seriousness) that an easy way to double or even triple your life expectancy was to never climb up a ladder onto the roof of a house.

Guess what’s on my to-do list for today.

I can’t help but feel, however, that the Universe is trying in its usual, not so subtle way, to remind me to be careful.  Out of the blue, a nephew of mine (unaware of my roof related plans for today) picked today to mention in passing the only Bible quote to my knowledge that deals with people falling off a roof and dying.  (Deuteronomy 22:8, for you scholars out there; no link so you can better pick your favorite translation, but the message is pretty clear in all of them.)

Maybe I don’t actually need to get on the roof today . . .

 

These Numbers REALLY Don’t Add Up

In an effort to get a better feel for my new community, I recently attended a community meeting.  Having no real practical prior experience doing something like this before, something about the experience bothered me, and I’m not talking about my deep-seated aversion to meetings in general.  What bothered me was that I couldn’t help but notice that:

Number of people in the community:  In the low thousands.

Number of registered members:  In the low hundreds.

Number of attendants of the annual meeting to determine elected officials:  In the low dozens.

L’s Mother (who has more experience with this sort of thing than I do), tells this is normal, and I know it is.

It just shouldn’t be.

To Give You An Idea Just HOW Long I Will Wait For A Joke

Over the weekend, as we were getting ready to go out, L’s mother asked me if I knew what the temperature was outside.

“Why are you asking me?” I asked her.  “Ask Lala, she’s the one with the phone . . .”