The pointless ramblings and obscure humor of an over-worked, off-beat, performer-writer-teacher.
By messing with my profile, I've now unknowing become a citizen of Albania and been put on some watch-list somewhere.
HEY!! How the hell did I get to be 103 years old?
In my life
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ChesterGlasses
Don't Panic. . .
the pelican
things that make me happy
What Ever Happened To My Lunchbox
Writing it down
today
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The Newest Adventure of Kimmie. . . (In which Kimmie goes shopping)
So Kimmie decided it was time to buy a new television. The old one had come unplugged again, and she didn’t want to pay another repairman to fix it. Last time she had to call a repairman to plug it back in, it cost her three-hundred dollars, she wasn’t given everything the repairmen had promised, and the TV just came unplugged again. She had overheard one repairman say to the other that they were going to take, “this dumb blond” for a ride, which got Kimmie all excited. She had never ridden in a repair truck before. But when the repairmen were finished, they just took her money and left.
So Kimmie went to Best Buy. She figured any place named Best Buy would certainly have the best buys. When she got there she couldn’t find a sales clerk. She finally found someone named “Dave,” at least that’s what his name tag said, and ask him if he knew where a sales clerk was. But he couldn’t help her either, because he was on a lunch break and worked at Wal-Mart.
Finally a rude young man with a nine-inch nail stuck through his nose asked her, “What are you looking at?” It seemed obvious to Kimmie what she was looking at.
“I’d like to buy that TV” Kimmie responded.
The young man with the nail in his nose looked confused for a moment and then said, “I can’t sell you that TV.”
Kimmie was shocked over the rude manner of the young man and stormed out of the store, “It must be because I’m blond,” she thought. So she went and found her friend DiDi (two “D”s, two “i”s, no “e”s) who was a redhead.
After the young man quit looking at the two “D”s he more than willingly sold DiDi a TV, and even threw in the extended warranty for only sixty dollars more.
So Kimmie borrowed a DiDi’s wig and pair of “D”s and returned to Best Buy. But the young man still refused to sell her the TV she selected. Kimmie was even more shocked the second time, obviously it was only her second time in Best Buy, and stormed out of the store again.
“It must be because I’m a woman she thought.” (Obviously she didn’t think DiDi was much of a woman either, despite the fact that at least three vice officers believed he was.) So she duct-taped her breasts, shaved her head, and returned to Best Buy.
Again, the clerk refused to sell Kimmie the TV she’d selected. “Unable to control herself any longer, Kimmie finally yelled, “Why won’t you sell me that TV!”
The clerk looked even more confused, “I’m sorry sir? . . . miss?. . . but that’s a toaster.”
Next weekend Kimmie’s going out to look for a new computer. She’s been having trouble with the monitor on the old one. It’s stuck in “reheat” mode, and when she tried to email her hamster, it exploded.
The Coming of WildSong
Because a few of you (*cough*olderbrother*cough*) have said you prefer science fiction over fantasy (even though he was the one who first got me to read fantasy), I'm posting a serialized science fiction novel. Most of WildSong is already written, but I just haven't been able to quite tie all the pieces together or really find its climax. I'm hoping that posting its chapters online might motivate me to finish. So read it and enjoy. Or don't, and see if I care.
Have You Ever Wondered. . .
Where the steps on the escalator go when they reach the bottom?
I think there must be someone who works in the basement who carries them over to the up escalator so they can get back up to the top.
Kimmie was on the escalator the other day when it broke down. She was stuck there for three hours until the repairman arrived.
Why Sonic has a drive-through?
Why, when you're flying over the desert/mountains, the flight attendant feels it's important for you to know that your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device?
This has always worried me. It's like saying (while brandishing a fake smile), "We may get high jacked today and be forced to bail out over the ocean." Or even worse, "Your pilot is Captain Daniels and he had one too many drinks in the VIP lounge before coming on board today."
Why some things seem funnier late at night?
If an English teacher says something like "funner" does that make it a real word?
Of course the answer to that one is "yes."
Just a Question
Does anyone else ever go to blogs written in a language they don't know just too see what they can understand?
I personally enjoy visiting those in Japanese.
Nobel Savage Syndrome
Another blog got me thinking. Check out this from The Pelican. And it seems that in the not-too-recent past my brother got me thinking about the same thing too.
When I was growing up, (and I have to admit, even some times as an adult) I wanted to be a Indian. The term "Nobel Savage Syndrome" was first used more than a century ago by sociologists to describe the romanticizing of ancient and/or non-Western civilizations to somehow be more noble because of (seemingly) being more simple. I don’t know if that was really true, but I do know it seemed to me that the movies I watched made being an Indian look like fun. I remember Against the Crooked Sky was one of my favorite movies and books.
But the Native Americans I grew up around seemed more interested in the tourist trade than their heritage. Festivals and Pow-Wows were the way to make money off the “white man.” When I moved to the Southwest where my wife was from, I encountered Natives that did seem to be more interested in their culture than tourist trade. Sadly, however, there are still many here who seemed to have sold out to the tourist trade. On the other extreme, there are Pueblos who have seemed to withdrawn completely from the world they live in. There are a few, as well, that have feet planted in both the modern world and their traditional culture. But again, sadly, many seem to be turning their back on their heritage or perverting their traditions into something they are not.
One of my good friends (and actually many of my other acquaintances) worries about what her children and grandchildren are loosing – their language, their culture, etc. And still wants them to be a productive and influential part of the world around them, not just their Pueblo. It’s a difficult balancing act. She finds humor in the fact that I wanted to be an Indian when I was a kid. Her question is always, “Why?” I don’t know how to answer, or even “why” myself. But she is a good example of the “why.” Still, she worries. She tells a story of her grandson, after watching the movie Spirt. He said, “Grandma Josie, I want to be an Indian.” Her reply was, “But you are an Indian.” To which he responded, “No, I mean a real Indian.” A four year old saw more value in riding wild horses, like in the movie, than working in a casino, like his father.
Fantasy or Science Fiction?
The two categories have always appeared together on bookstore shelves, as if they were the same genre. And even publishing companies identify the books as “Science Fiction / Fantasy” on the spine. The “Science Fiction Book Club” sells books that are by definition fantasy. So what exactly do these terms mean? There’s one set of definitions (I don’t remember where I originally heard them) that closely ties the two together: Science fiction is extraordinary events explained by scientific or pseudo scientific means. Fantasy is extraordinary events explained by mystical means. So the “Fantasy vs. Science Fiction” debate is really the literary equivalent to the “God vs. Science” debate. Only, like in real life, the two ideas are not really mutually exclusive or even contradictory. Have you read Phillip Pullman’s Golden Compass or its sequels? Any of Anne McCaffrey’s works? Seen Star Wars? Read Jack Kirby’s New Gods or Wendy and Richard Pini’s Elf Quest? They all walk the fine line between Fantasy and Science Fiction.
In Pullman’s works, there is no defined difference between science and mysticism. Many Anne McCaffrey’s look like fantasy on the surface, populated by standard fantasy creatures and archetypal fantasy characters, but science is always the underlining explanation. Star Wars is just the opposite, it looks like science fiction on the surface with its technology and space ships, but beneath the surface it’s fantasy. Everything is explained in connection with the mythical “force.” Even the characters are archetypal fantasy characters: wizards, knights, rouges, and wanderers. The New Gods is the same, fantasy disguised as science fiction. Side note: some have suggested that Lucas “ripped off” The New Gods when he made Star Wars. I hold more to the camp that suggests both Kirby and Lucas were heavily influenced by the research and writings of Joseph Campbell on world mythologies. Which, incidentally, adds further support to the idea that both are fantasy. Then there’s Elf Quest. For many, many years, we thought it was pure fantasy. Not only is the surface layer fantasy, but many of the following layers as well. However, once we’ve gone far enough, we discover it’s been science fiction all along – the elves are aliens, their “magic” and abilities the result of evolution, genetic engineering, or technology.
So, my point. . . . (Occasionally I have one.) My older brother recently said he hadn’t been reading Books of Elven because he didn’t really like fantasy. This, by the way is the brother that introduced me to both Tolkien and Star Wars. My comment is don’t be so sure. You may only think you know what you are reading. And by the time you convince yourself it might be science fiction (probably after reading more “Emprize” episodes) prepare yourself to start believing it’s fantasy again. Books of Elven was always intended to be a juggling act – juggling not only multiple time lines and story lines, but juggling genres as well.
What is WebPulp?
So, some of you may have noticed the additional logo on my sites up in the corner and are asking yourselves, “What is WebPulp?” OK, maybe you’re not, but I’ll tell you anyway. And because it’s “That’s Not My Dog!” it won’t be a straight forward explaination.
The original "Pulps" were anthology story magazines printed in the 1930s and 40s. They were called "Pulps" because of the cheap, pulpy newsprint they were printed on. The stories in these magazines were serialized, continuing from one issue to the next. Stories would go on for months and even years. The most popular of these were detective stories, romances, westerns, and science fiction.
The "Pulps" no longer exist in the United States; although, they are still very popular in Europe. But their influence is still felt in the United States in everything from comic books to cheap grocery-store novels to movie titles.
Quite a few years ago my younger brother and I decided that we wanted to revive the "pulp" concept of serialized stories via the internet, printing science fiction stories. The internet was in its infancy at the time, still basically text-based, and the idea soon fell by the wayside. I resurrected it a few years later when I was doing graduate work, working in the university computer center to support myself while going to school. It was then that I attached the name “WebPulp” to the concept. It was only on-line for a couple of months, but I’ve always wanted to revive it again.
Enter my brother again, who introduced me to the world of blogging. It seems funny, more like full circle, because the concept of blogs seems to relate back to the days of text-based internet. He was serializing a story on a blog, and it sounded like a good idea to me. So, here I am again.
Right now the only serialized story I’m doing is Books of Elven, but I plan on eventually adding more. Books of Elven is in reality four different stories taking place in three different time periods. It might be a little confusing, but if you look at the blog titles you can see which entries belong to which story-line and follow a single line is following multiple lines gets too complicated. Writing multiple story lines gets confusing at times. I have to be careful not to reveal something that is slated to be revealed in one of the other lines.
I’ve actually been writing Books of Elven for quite a while now, or at least the separate stories. It wasn’t until recently that I decided they needed to be blended into one whole. So much of what is being posted now (although, not all) was written quite a while ago. Actually, House of Clyto was written nearly twenty years ago, but this version is a major rewrite. I’ve completely thrown out the old text and only kept the basic plot.
TrolLore is in about its third version. I actually found an old version the other day and (re)added in some elements to the newer that I’d left out. Right now, as far as writing goes, I’m concentrating on Androse’s Story. In the meantime, I’m posting from previously written TrolLore. Androse’s Story was originally a small part of TrolLore, but some characters are just too demanding, and before long had his own story.
The other part of WebPulp is “That’s Not My Dog!” the “editorial” page. That’s what you are reading right now. It’s the place I ramble and will occasionally talk about my writing.
Tonight is the Night for Irish Soul Food
My wife made corned beef and cabbage for dinner tonight. It's a rarity that she cooks dinner, but then it is St. Patrick’s Day. Not to say I would celebrate and Irish Catholic holiday. After all my ancestors were Irish Protestant. But any excuse to eat corned beef and cabbage is a good excuse. I wore orange (not green) to work today in honor of my Irish roots, something I picked up from my father. In the past, I use to get comments from friends and colleagues, but I guess they’ve gotten use to me.
We’ve had a couple of fights (major fights) among students lately. I see suspension paper for different students in my staff box every day. The funniest ones I’ve seen were three cousins, two for fighting and one for instigating a fight. All three are in my remedial English class and I knew the two had been teasing the third – kind of a sibling thing – so I knew exactly what happened when I saw those papers. Except that isn’t what happened. They were in a fight with some other students. Two days after they returned to school, they were suspended for fighting again. This time it happened during a staff meeting that was called during lunch. Two separate fights, about twelve kids suspended. Spring is in the air and teenage testosterone is running high.
I bring it up because one of my colleagues (dressed all in green, no less) asked if I thought there’d be any problems today, being a holiday. I turned to her and with as straight a face as possible and said, “Not unless the Catholics and the Protestants get into it.”
Burbie and Ben
I love knock-off shops. You know, those places where you can buy almost name-brand items. The tourist section San Francisco is full of them, then there’s “Pick ‘n’ Save” (affectionately referred to as “Pick Your Nose”) which was bought out by “Big Lots” around here. They will sell you things like “Burbie” dolls along with her boyfriend Ben, “Hallo Katty” merchandise, and Simsanite luggage. I’ve decided that what this world needs is a whole line of name-brand rip-off products. Naming them is easy, simply take the brand-name and change one of the vowels in the name to an “a.” If the vowel is already an “a,” change it to an “o” or “u.” For example, “Triskit” crackers become “Traskit,” “Twinkies” are “Twankies.” My favorites are “Ding Dangs.” Or, for occasional variation, change a consonant instead. “Ritz” could appropriately be called “Ratz,” but “Zitz” is a good variation too. Knock-offs could rule our lives. We could be all start drinking “Bad Light” and eating “Toritos” while we watch the Chico-go Bars play fatball. We could tune in nightly to the Cable Noise Network (CNN) to find out what everybody is the world is complaining about. I’m sure that even “Dash Network” could afford their programming.
My head is starting to pound. I think I’ll take and “Oddvil” and go to bed.Maybe I'm Just Getting Too Old
I’m sitting in my TESL (Teaching English as a Second Language) class thinking about how bored I am.
(OK, I’m not really in my class, I wrote this on notebook paper first.)
I really understand how my students feel some days. I just can’t focus tonight – could care less about what is being said.
(Actually I found that writing the was helping me to focus.)
The head of the language department (Note to Brother: Dustin’s Dad’s Ditsy Cousin) finallh convinced me to offer an ASL (American Sign Language) class for next year. She’s been trying to convince me for two years now. Mainly because I’m taking this language teaching method’s class for my TESL endorsement, I’ve decided that maybe it’s time. But even though I put a description in the course catalogue for next year, I’m hoping there won’t be enough students to have the class. I’m already too busy. So far I’ve written course descriptions for ASL, a new drama class, a fundamental English course (for those struggling in / failing the lower division English courses, and rewritten the course description for communication arts so it covers all arts and not just public speaking. I feel I’m spreading myself too thin. That wouldn’t be a bad thing, if it were making me thinner, but only my hair is getting thinner.
I’m sure my Deaf friend are laughing themselves sick over the thought of me teaching ASL. I’ve gotten so rusty. All my friends live a good twelve-plus hours away and I really haven’t attached myself to any group here, or made any new friends. And even thought I’ve met a few Deaf people since moving to New Mexico, I feel isolated from my second language. My friends “back home” are constantly (at least when I see them) telling me I need to search out a Deaf group here. I’ve been in New Mexico for six years now and am still too chicken to go find a group to socialize with. The only other ASL speakers I associate with are hearing like me. One does have a Deaf mother and another a Deaf sibling, but I still feel like we’re just a bunch of hearing people who use ASL. I miss the culture and my friendships.
(It’s funny, as I was writing this, someone in class brought up ASL. They all know it’s my second language which makes me different from many of the other class members. Most of them speak English and Spanish or English and Keres – the Native American language in the area. So, I had to play like I was paying attention for a little while.)
I’m loosing my second language because I’m not using it. My grammar is still decent, and my vocabulary is still good, given enough time for recall, but I speak slower than an arthritic Eskimo. I can’t begin to understand a native or fluent ASL speaker anymore unless the slow dowm.
(Class ended.)
So, now I’m thinking about everything I wrote and I’m feeling guilty for not being more social.
Tonight's Pointless Ramble
Don't you hate it when you spend too much time typing and get logged out before you can post?
Go Check out Space Opera or Steampunk?. My brother is accusing my site of giving him tent vision. I guess that's better than the blindness "Books of Elven" seems to be causing. I really gotta do something about that color scheme. I like it, but it just isn't working right. Not everything is printing where it's suppose to and some of it is hard to see, not to mention the ever-changing font size. Then there's the "gif" logo for "That's Not My Dog!" that doesn't seem to want to show up. And on top of that, there are the demands for more "Adventures of Kimmy" I've discovered Kimmy is not that easy to write - halfway between blond jokes and the old "Silly Sally" suggestive one-liners. (That in and of itself seems to be a suggestive one-liner - imagine Kimmy halfway between a blond and Silly Sally.) It must be late; even I didn't think that was funny. Anyway, I'll post something less disconnected later.
Aside to my brother: Publish! Both! So "teacher" wants a sex change. I hate it when that happens. Androse won't make up his mind about how old he is. Dr. Knight can't decide whether he's married to Dr. Gold or just living with her. Dr. Gold can't settle on a first name. Kyle and Darryl still can't make up their minds about what their last name should be. And most those characters haven't even shown up yet. They need to make up their minds quickly.
Bumping Down the Road of Life in a Beat-up Winnebago
My brother sort of brought it up on his blogs, so I’ll continue my stream of conscious here.
We didn’t know growing up that our life was a little different than most. We grew up in a small town (30k to 50k people, not so small that the only people to date were our cousins – that’s where our dad grew up – but small enough). However, we spent a lot of our summers traveling the country – even the big cities – in our family’s beat-up Winnebago. My father was a nuclear physicist and often a lecturer at universities, participant in some conference, or doing some project with his consulting firm. “Why pay for an airline ticket and hotel when the Winnebago can get us there.” I remember cruising down the highway at fifty-five (top speed in the old tub) while Mom was making bologna sandwiches in the back. Heaven forbid we stop at McDonalds – we’d loose precious traveling time. Of course, Mom made the sandwiches because she wouldn’t drive the old tub.
One summer we drove from Seattle (where my younger brother lives now) to San Francisco (where my older brother lives now). I remember it rained most of the way. We got lost in Portland, which was unusual for my father, who seemed to have built in radar. But it seems like there were so many twisted, one-way roads and off-ramps there he’d start driving in the right direction and before we knew it, the road turned the opposite way. I just remember it being like one giant maze. It rained most of the way that trip. I don’t know why that’s an important point to make, it just is.
It was probably that same trip that we found the Chinese torture wax museum my brother mentioned in his blog, or it might have been another. What I remember is the “campground” where we parked the Winnebago. It was a blacktop parking lot with electrical and sewer hook-ups.
San Francisco continues to be one of my favorite vacation destinations: Fisherman’s Wharf, Powell Street, Tad’s Steakhouse, and Chinatown. Don’t know is Tad’s Steakhouse is still there, it’s a place just off Powell Street, close to Union Square, that my wife and I discovered. We actually spotted it in the background of some movie recently. Wish I could remember what movie it was. But if you’ve ever seen the Sienfeld episode with the “Soup Nazi” you have some idea of Tads. You walk in, stay in line, get a tray and silverware, and take whatever steak they give you. Sometimes it’s rare, sometimes it’s well-done; you can try to make a request, but it won’t do you any good. And very rarely is it a recognizable cut of meat, usually just a slab. But, it’s good and cheap. My father would have loved the place.
Today is a good day to babble
Random thoughts running around in my head. I live in New Mexico. Why do I mention that? Because without it, this ramble would make much less sense.
(Does a ramble have to make sense?)
My wife and I took the kids and went to our new favorite restaurant tonight for dinner.
(We would have gone to McDonalds if the three-year old had been willing to do his “business” on the toilet, at least that was the bribe. Good thing he wouldn’t and Dad got to pick where we went.)
“China Gourmet” – it’s a great buffet (and that rhymes, reminding me of the horrid poetry kick I’ve been on lately) - mostly Chinese seafood dishes; although, for some reason, they also have sushi and Mongolian barbeque. I suppose Mongolian is close to Chinese, and I’m sure most people in New Mexico have no idea that sushi isn’t Chinese. My wife hates sushi, so this is the only way I get it unless I get it on my own.
(She won’t eat chicken gizzards either, which doesn’t matter because that’s not what this ramble is about.)
So on the buffet, along with seafood, mini corndogs for the kids, Mongolian barbeque, sushi, hot and sour soup, and traditional egg-drop soup, is green chile soup. New Mexican’s are obsessed with green chile. You can’t go anywhere without finding something with green chile. Not a fair, craft show, or flea market can occur without someone trying to sell green chile something – jam, butter, pie, whatever.
The sad thing is that many of the chile farmers in the state (my wife’s uncle and cousin included) are having a hard time because all the local companies are buying the chile from Mexico. It’s “simple” economics – workers in Mexico are still paid like slaves, so chile is cheaper bought from there. Wasn’t NAFTA suppose to balance wages in Mexico with the US and improve the economy? So why are Mexican workers being paid like slaves and US farmers loosing out?
(OK, sorry about that soapbox, I got way off track. Or did I?)
There was a great squid dish on the buffet.
Forgot the one blog that started me looking at the others: The Green Regime.
An Open Invitation
You know, there seems to be no practical way to search for certain blogs or blog topics. So, I’ve decided to make links to some of my favorite blogs and encourage everybody to do the same. If you like what you see here, link, comment and let me check out your blog too.
Aside to Blackbird: Link away!!!
Blogs I’ve been reading (along with the “about” quote from the page):
the pelican – “once more with feeling”
Filipino-American Splendor – “Wherein I bare my soul for your titilation and reading pleasure. (Note the people and events depicted in this blog are purely fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or me is entirely coincidental)”
Things – “that make me happy.”
What Ever Happened To My Lunchbox – “Streams of rantings based on that which stems from laziness and procrastination.”
Space Opera or Steampunk? – “The oft times rambling of a guy who likes to think of himself as a "wordsmith" and wannabee scifi author.”
The Fall from Apotheosis
My brother made me laugh today: Wax Museum. If you haven't checked out his blog, do it. I remember the museum, but wasn't as freaked out by it as he was. Maybe I'll have to blog my own thoughts on the subject later.
