Monday Afterglow

Had a wonderful time at the beach. If only I could write for a living and make one. However, did have an inspiration, due to one of the instructors. This is my three minute assignment for a story. The story is of a nun. Here goes:

The houses are squat and broken down, some showing gaps where the roofs don’t match up with the walls. The lines form outside before dawn, patient people who may be enemies at night, standing together in the early morning light. She motions the first in, who crosses the shattered doorway and sits in the special chair, so out of place in the dingy glow of the kerosene lamps.

She takes out her mirror, slips on clear, thin plastic gloves, and signals, as the language is unknown.

OPEN WIDE.

And she prays for teeth.

Ritabit

Tomorrow is my writers conference, three days and two nights at the beach in summery rain-free Washington. Temps predicted at 60s with nary a cloud clouding the horizon. The best part will be leaving the day job to fend for itself until Monday. Not that I won't be feeling I should be working on occasion, but when I do, I'll just relax until the feeling goes away. Nothing that won't be there waiting for me when I come back.

My favorite thing to do is shop among the other writers, find a good book, and get comfortable by the fire. Sure, I could do this at home, except maybe for the five barkaholics contributing to the decomfort part. Plus there is stuff to be done, housework, carwork, yardwork. Doesn't quite add up to the comfy part. Not that I do any of the stuff; just can't get comfy thinking about it. However, being away from everything contributes to the not having to do anything atmosphere guilt free.

Classes are usually interesting and worse - motivating. Get all psyched up about writing. Get those juices flowing. Get ready, and go back to work Monday. THUD.

However, that's another day. I'm still in the looking forward mode, like the day before Christmas, not the day when the after-Christmas bills come.

American Idollatree

Yeah, I watch American Idol. I just "love" Simon the terrible.

Watched the guys Monday and the girls Tuesday. As with any subjective contest, beauty, or in this case, something (singing? chrisma? showboating?) is in the eye of the beholder.

Have a soft spot for the guy with the trach, the tallest guy with the smile, the school teacher, and the guy with the hat. I didn't like all the guys trying to be Stevie Wonder.

The girls were harder to remember, or many of them hadn't been seen before. I liked the country singer and the girl in the green top, even with her tummy showing. (They all blew her off as being boring). I didn't like the skinny girl with the frizz top, whom they adored. Or the last girl in that really awful dress. Guess it is a good thing I'm not a judge.

May be that if any of the ones I like stay for awhile, I will even remember their names. Not so good so far. So much for their impact on this fan. I wonder if anyone I know actually votes. I don't.

Beamers

If anyone has read my first novel, Catching the Wind, they would know something about the main character's perception of a BMW.

As it turned out, after I wrote the book, I managed to find myself caught between buying a Honda Accord coupe, with a $4,500 mark up just for the pleasure of purchasing at my local dealer, or for $100 more, a low end BMW, which had a price exactly the same (down to the dollar) as the BMW internet site built me with the options I wanted. As part of purchasing, the salesguy didn't even attempt to sell me a car on the lot, but simply took my order and produced the exact car with a delivery date of a week later, having it shipped in from another state.

It was nice shopping for a car without a guy running to the back room to pretend you are breaking the bank with your offer. Didn't have to sit with a guy trying to squeeze the payment plan or request unnecessary information, hassle my wife, or any of the things that makes car buying slightly less wonderful than getting a root canal. Anyway, the aura was too much to pass up, so I'm the owner of a Bavarian Motor Works 325xi, the 3 being the series, the 25 being a 2.5 liter engine, the x being all wheel drive, and the i being something.

Now, two years later and I'm about to go over 50,000 miles this weekend. So far, my $100 extra purchase for the BMW has cost me nothing more than gas, insurance, and two trips to the dealer for scheduled maintenance (included in the price). Oh, I do have to wash it myself, although a wash is included in the scheduled maintenance, or any time I feel like dropping in for a visit. I wonder if a Honda dealer would have done the same offer.

The car isn't without problems:

It is hard to tell when on ice as the car's all wheel drive and traction control disguises the situation by not doing anything. Watching cars around me sliding and slipping while my car is going straight down the road is a really disconcerting.

The highest control on the seat warmer is too hot.

The Xenon headlights provide too much light and bother oncoming drivers.

The car stops too fast in a panic stop on slick roads and makes it susceptable to get rear ended.

And so on.

The moral of this post. Buy my book and find out what the BMW thing is all about.

Yeah, right.

Mondayne

Today is a holiday, father of our country day observed. In state employment during the legislative session, it means my hours are reduced from 7:30-6:30 to 9:00-4:00. Here I am, not even 5 pm, and I'm home. Almost feel like I need to put in for some leave to cover the 2 1/2 hours I'm off.

Recent polls taken by those who take recent polls indicate that ol' George wasn't exactly the most highly regarded president by those who fill out polls or whatever. They listed Abe as number one, followed by Uncle Ronnie, one of the Bushes, JFK, and even Bill Clinton, all before George the Great. Bill Clinton? Come on. He and George B the first remind me of James Garner and Jack Lemmon in "My Fellow Americans" with their current lovefest. Probably named them because the pollees couldn't remember any president past Kennedy. Oops, off track.

Actually, one of the most redeaming qualities about our first president is that he allowed for a second one. George junior didn't succeed him as king of the world, western world anyway.

Most people knew George chopped down a cherry tree, married Martha, was a general of some army, crossed a river in a row boat, lost his way into the playoffs against England and still won the war, had a state named after him, and probably did lie on occasion. Most people don't know that George stiffed one of my ancesters by making the down payment of the land Washington DC is built on and then forgetting to get congress to appropriate the remainder of the payments. Maybe I should file a claim.

All in all, it is swell that we have a holiday named after our funding father (oops, Freudian slip) founding father. And tomorrow, when his birthday actually occurs, remember to wish him a happy day in whatever location you think he currently resides in.

Blogiversary

Today is the anniversary of my first blog, posted last week today. Now, purists contend that an anniversary can only take place after a year has gone by. However, this is not the case. An anniversary is an annual recurring date of a past event and the celebration of that event. As written in the web dictionary:

Anniversary: The annually recurring date of a past event, especially one of historical, national, or personal importance: a wedding anniversary; the anniversary of the founding of Rome.
A celebration commemorating such a date.

Christmas is the anniversary of Christ's birth. However, Christmas day is not likely to have been the actual birth date. Doesn't keep it from being an anniversary.

So, with that in mind, I'm celebrating the anniversary of my blogging, the first celebration taking place one week after.

Of course this means next year, should I still be blogging, I would have to wait a week. But, I'm not taking any chances and am getting at least one anniversary in.

Reflecting on blogging brings to mind rules.

The first rule of blogging is to blog. You have to actually do it. Where I work, some of my staff are like running a race. Ready, set, work. Only, if they can manage two out of three, they think it is sufficient for their pay. Hey, I got up, I showed up, what more do you expect? All of those people who have signed up to blog, go to their site, and still think they are blogging without posting anything, well, they are breaking the first rule of blogging.

However...
Blogging isn't an occupation, but a hobby.
Therefore,

The second rule of blogging is not to blog. This means feeling OK about yourself if you don't blog every day. One problem with this is the followship, those who faithfully read your blog every single day, whether they blog themselves or even whether they post. Being consistent would help with the second rule, in that if you don't blog every day, be consistent about when you do blog.

I'm not blogging on Friday. Too tired from five slogs to work at 6:30 in the morning, sitting in traffic lines, sitting in work lines, sitting in front of an unfriendly computer with 10-20 messages an hour all requiring my attention, and actual work to be done in between. I went to an hour meeting and had 59 messages waiting when I came out. And I wonder who invented this e-mail thing?

I'm not blogging on Sunday either. So there.

The third rule of blogging is reinforcement of other bloggers. This means reading their blog and, yes, it means posting. Even if it is just hi. Bloggers are people, and people need the acknowledgement that other people care, even if it is only enough to post a raspberry comment. Yes, checking the hits counts, but hitting is just like the ready set thing. In the third rule of blogging, the work part, posting, is a necessity. Not for everything you read. But, just once in a while, for no reason whatsoever, a hi, or even a raspberry, :)- or whatever you use, works wonders.

The fourth rule of blogging? Ignore the first three if you feel like it. Blogging really has no rules.

And to think I learned all this after a single week. What will next week bring?

Beachwriting

Next weekend is the annual Writers Weekend at the Beach, something I have been looking forward to since the very second of McNabb's last interception in the superbowl. The annual event is held on (near) an actual beach in Ocean Park, Washington. Three days of writers, and writer groupies, writer wantabes, former writers, future writers, and writer dreamers hanging out, going to class, writing stuff, and with a whole bunch of doing nothing, all set in a very lovely retreat center a short hike from the ocean. The people are very nice, the classes range from OK to thrilling, the food is family wholesome, and if I stayed there at night, the snoring is a killer.

I look forward to this every year. A chance to actually do nothing and not feel guilty. To get away from everyone I am in contact with the other 362 days. And, after every event is done at night, a chance to get away from the people I'm getting away to be with. In a dead quiet motel down the road, I don't even have to share the shooter to watch TV.

The only real drawback to the writer's weekend? Monday.

Hockie

The (sniff) hockey season passed away admid much sorrow and paycheck loss today. No brawls, lawsuits, life threatening injuries for at least seven months now. And that doesn't even count the part played on the ice.

When I was much (MUCH) younger, I adored the hockey pucks like the Bobby's (Hull and Or) Gordie, Phil, guys who played tough, but not fatal, and games that had more action than fights. Or maybe I was just a kid and didn't notice. Also, these guys played for like $50,000 a year, not $50,000,000. So, what happened? I know what happened to me. I grew up.

Yeah right. I switched to football with legal fights on the field and other guys making $50,000,000. And fantasy leagues where I'm rooting for the wide receiver to get tacked on the one, so my lazy worthless running back can tiptoe it in for six. Last year with all of the leagues I played in, when Culpepper hit Moss for a 50 yard touchdown, they scored six points and I scored 60.

So, will I miss hockey? No, fantasy hockey never caught on. For me anyway. However, less than seven more months and counting for the next fantasy football draft and my 20th season. Hubba, hubba.

Dogonit

We have five Pomeranians. That's as many fingers as are on one hand for the counting challenged. Four of them aren't real Poms, as the dad Pom, Ebenezer, is half Pekingese. However, dogs aren't predjudiced, so they don't know they are less than pure. Even the mom Pom, Mega Pixel, who is pure, doesn't count as Pom's only matter if they weigh less than six pounds.

The American Kennel Club says:

Size, Proportion, Substance
The average weight of the Pomeranian is from 3 to 7 pounds, with the ideal weight for the show specimen being 4 to 6 pounds. Any dog over or under the limits is objectionable.

Pix put on about 4 pounds as a result of getting fixed, and hits the scale at 9.8, so she fits in the objectionable category. Fixed daddy dog Ebby also added about 50%, going from 9 pounds to 13.6. Nice thing about fixing daddy dogs these days, they do vasectomies, just like with guys. Ebby doesn't know he's shooting blanks.

Kid sisters are Ester, Emily, and Freckel. They fit the non-objectinable size as they aren't fixed. However, they aren't real Poms either, just 3/4 real. (1 + 1/2 = 3/4 for the fraction whatevered.)

Pomeranians bark. Lots. Generally during waking hours. Ours have special talent; they can howl in unison. We stupidly taught them that. Remember the sleeping tiger rule: Well, when they are asleep, we tiptoe.

Mondayitis

What is the first day after two days of rain? Monday.

How can people get up and go to work every Monday? I've been doing this for almost 35 years, but I haven't figured out how. It's torture. Maybe those people who have really great jobs, who either get paid to do what they would do for free, or simply don't have to do anything, like in a Hugh Grant movie, maybe they jump right up and hustle out the door. Bedroom door, that is.

I have a real nasty alarm clock that puts me in the right mood. M-F it screams, "Get up, jerk, and slog your 40 miles to work. " And so I do. Hate minding an alarm clock. One day last week, I forgot to set it. Slept an extra three minutes.

Getting up requires moving the cat, who sleeps on the corner of the bed. Come to think of it, going to bed requires moving the cat, too. The cat definitely has life down pat. However, in seven more years, Bush forbid and lose my SS, I can be that cat. Or maybe a Hugh Grant character. Something to look forward to.

Now, what to do about Tuesday?

Two Days in a Row

Blogging is dumb, but here I am back again.

It is all Randy's fault. She blogged me and I just had to blog her back.

I'm supposed to be vaccuming the rug and washing the dogs, but instead I'm sitting here designing prattle. At least I got the title right.

Shameless commercial: Key in "John C Pelkey" in Google.com and follow the sponsored link to the right.

This is so dumb

Who is going to read this crap?