Sweet for bitters

As I posted several disturbing articles this week, here's pallet cleanser. Now I've got to get to work.

Sweet_sweet_sweet

Karl Rove - caught on tape

Wondering what Jason Alexander has been up to lately?

04:52

Roses, scars and traveler's return

M. Lee will be back late Friday night. Naturally they just got San Carlos all figured out, all the important things that is like who sells the best Flan. I use a capital there because Flan is holy. Besides the fact that I am definitely ready for him to come home, I think it's in their own best interest. Last night he and Greg were drunk from Flan and whipped cream. It can only get worse.

When they first got to San Carlos they went shopping in Guaymas, the next town over where the real markets are. He told me about a sad little carnival there and I made him promise he'd photograph it for me. So he made a special trip back there yesterday and took some pictures. I don't expect it to look like much. After all, it is a sad carnival but I'm always drawn to rundown places and things like that. In past lives I must have been an actor in a traveling theatre troupe or two.

As for the month of creative experimentation, I don't have much to show for it but I did make a little progress. At least as the time draws to a close, I am back to showering in the morning, something I'd gotten away from over the summer. It's hard working at home. And I am expanding the stage of the Invisible Theatre. But I haven't written much or done any comics. And only kept a couple clips of the poetry readings, although I did several. But I learned something about lighting and and which room has the best sound and that, if I'm going to be in front of the camera, I should probably comb my hair first.

Here are a couple of photos from the day. My hand is doing pretty good but I have to massage the scars as hard as I can stand 3-5 times a day. It helps break down the scare tissue. Stings like hell! If the body is a world made up of different countries, by the end of the day, the country known as the Right Hand is very annoyed with the country known as the Left Hand.

Right Hand telling the Left Hand to BACK OFF.

A rose
is a rose
is a rose
even when it's a rose bud.

Teachers and learners

I've got an attitude. Perhaps you've noticed. I can't remember a time I didn't. Unfortunately I'd be lying to say I'm not a little proud of it even though I suspect swagger is inversely proportional to competence. I'll leave that to critics and historians. Anyway, my 'tude got me in trouble again yesterday. Not trouble as in suffering consequences from others but in that it's a filter, I nearly missed a good thing. Well what I think is a good thing. Luckily, someone challenged me and I could admit they were right. Tell me you'd be amazed to hear that it took years before I was able to consider that I might be wrong when I am so RIGHT. Anyway, as a result I found my new favorite site today. Here's a video from it which I hope you will enjoy as well.

Aside to M. Lee: This clip illustrates why I continue to post those rants you hate.

Animal Magnetism

03:24

Via Collateral News. Visit them.

Open mind, insert facts

I hate to interrupt your regular Sunday morning routine (or whatever day, week or year it might be that you are reading this). I hope you will be a good sport and indulge me for the next few minutes. There are several documentaries and papers on the subject available online (you can research that for yourself) but, after you read this intro, I want you to read the short article posted below. Other than the fact that a contradictory message has been embedded in the basement of our brains, set to repel this information and make it feel extremely tedious and unnecessary, even dangerous, the article is a quick and easy read. But I want you to be prepared. If you have the courage, for one second, to take this information seriously the feelings of displacement, powerlessness and disorientation could be enormous. Nothing you won't survive and, though it leaves you with questions rather than answers, in admitting that there is even a slight possibility that this information is true, it will leave you with a much more sober view of the the century. So I hope that for the next 2 or 3 minutes you will jam open the doors to your mind and plow forward.

Steel Ignores Jet Fuel

by Edward Mitchell

I am not a scientist, nor a physicist, nor structural engineer. I am a Boilermaker, Shipbuilder, and Blacksmith Forger. Union. Now a contractor on military facilities. I build steel storage tanks for jet fuel. A few years ago, a typhoon blew through, and I got to watch a Mobil AST, with 1,000,000 gallons of diesel in it, get hit with lightning. The grounding failed, and the million gallons blew up.

Well, for a diesel fire that is. It didn’t “blow up”. It simply caught fire, burned itself out after 4 days, blackened the steel. Catch that? One million gallons of diesel fuel, burned for 4 days, and didn’t melt a thing.

The tank, 1/4″-thick steel, never melted.

Yet the 47 HUGE box-section core columns, the main structural supports of the WTC towers, are said to have melted?

Stop, I’ll wet my britches laughing.

I’ve melted, welded, forged, bent, twisted, repaired, sheared, punched, formed, plated, blasted and coated just about every metal you see used commonly in industry and construction, for over 32 years. I’ve welded many a steel I-beam: purlin clips, joining plates, you name it.

Do you recall the explosion you see after the second plane hits the tower? What caused that?

It was the JP-8 [jet fuel] contained in the aircraft’s tanks.

Did you see that huge fireball? What was that?

It was the kerosene (JP-8 is nothing more than refined kerosene, the same stuff you use in your camping stove).

It burned OUTSIDE the towers!

How could this fuel then have reconstituted itself after exploding, and put itself back inside the building?

And then?

It ran down 90 floors to melt the “un-insulated I-beams”? What? “Shook” the insulation off by jet impact? Are you kidding me? When the jet hit, it did not even knock folks down in the building below it! What nonsense!

Because I KNOW the dimensions of a 14,000 gallon fuel tank. It’s about 11’x11’x11’ — About the size on one of the many small offices on the floor that got hit. That’s all. The size of one little office the size of a 11-foot-cube.

Let’s look at this another way: The volume of each of the towers was roughly 50 MILLION CUBIC FEET.

The volume of the fuel was a relatively insignificant 1,300 cubic feet, about 0.003 percent!

Yet, you would have me believe NOT my own eyes, that see an explosion of huge proportions caused by the impact of the jet plane, but rather a tale that says exploded fuel turned back into liquid form, and less than 14,000 gallons, a ridiculously small amount of fuel, ran 90 stories down the stairways (the stairwells the firefighters used to come up to see “small fires”) and caused the beams to melt because the impact “knocked off the insulation”.

I have only one reply to that: What about WTC 7. Not hit. there goes THAT THEORY.

Steel at higher temperatures may bend, but it NEVER melts or turns to dust. Never. No, not ever.

Say, how about this for an argument: From now on, Controlled Demolition, Inc. never needs to use sophisticated computer analysis on where to place the explosives, amounts, sequences…oh no. We can simply pour 10,000 gallons of diesel fuel in the basement, stand back, and watch a PERFECTLY SIMULATED controlled demolition. Right?

Impeach Cheney

Bush photo op

Dennis Kucinich has it right. Cheney is determined to drag us into war with Iran. Apparently our only representative brave enough to do speak up, Kucinich introduced a motion of impeachment to stop this craven son of a bitch. Think the Iraq war is so insane that it can't happen again? Think again. Cheney is insane and insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. And if we stay silent about Iran, so are we. Why? Because what did we do during the run-up to the Iraq war? Kept our mouths shut.

Now the ball is in Senator John Conyers' hands. As Chairman of the Committee on the Judiciary, he is gatekeeper for Kucinich's motion to impeach this monster. And he is reluctant to push it forward. Now it's our turn to lift a finger to defend our embattled democracy, lucky us, from our oh_so_cozy_lives. Our task is simple. Make a phone call and say IMPEACH CHENEY. How hard is that? Call Conyers. Phone: 202-225-5126 / Fax: 202-225-0072

Kucinich Writes to Conyers
Submitted by davidswanson on Sat, 2007-11-10 00:53. Congress | Impeachment

November 9, 2007
The Honorable John Conyers, Jr.
Chairman
Committee on the Judiciary
2138 Rayburn HOB
Washington, DC 20515

Dear Chairman Conyers

I am writing in support of H. Res. 799, the Articles of Impeachment which were referred to the committee relative to the Impeachment of the Vice President of the United States of America.

Recent reports indicate that the Vice President is attempting to shape the National Intelligence Estimate on Iran to conform to his misperceptions about the threat Iran actually poses. Much like his deceptive efforts in the lead up to the Iraq war, the Vice President appears to be manipulating intelligence to conform to his beliefs.

If the reports are true, they add additional weight to the case for impeachment. I believe impeachment remains the only tool Congress has to prevent a war in Iran. This information relates directly to the Article III charges in the resolution. I urge your timely consideration.

Sincerely,

/s/

Dennis J. Kucinich

Member of Congress

Yesterday's news

I had lunch at India Kabab yesterday. Warning: If you click on their link, adjust your speakers first. You'll be met with a blast of jaunty Indian movie music. India Kabab is my current favorite buffet in Reno. The food is good. I love dahl anyway plus I have an abiding fondness for tiny, downtown cafes. One of the other things to recommend India Kabab is the televisions tuned to a delightfully bad Bollywood MTV channel. The videos are so sentimental and impossibly romantic that they are the equivalent of Mexico's De Película Clásico, the 24 hour twilight zone of 30's - 50's era soaps. For me these things create a kind of global village hometown feel, but then I'm weird. But M. Lee is worse. On our last trip to Mexico, he so got deeply addicted to De Película that I seriously began to worry about him.

Flash back
Wednesday, November 23, 1870

I was in town for a follow-up appointment with the hand surgeon. (hand healing nicely, btw) He shares an office complex which houses an incredible collection of old Nevada photos rivaling any well endowed museum. I photographed this article while waiting in the exam room. It's from the front page of the 1870 Nevada State Journal. As it was framed, behind glass, hanging on a wall and a little too high for me to easily reach, the quality is poor, but, if you like language, history, politics, and/or schadenfreude, it's worth the trouble to read it. This story about the shooting of lawyer A.P. Crittenden by Mrs. Fair, the old harlet, has it all. I can only imagine what the writer would have to say about our current batch of rotten celeb religious politicos!

No fee writing contests thru December

More contests, including those with entrance fees, at Poets&Writers

Bear Star Press
Dorothy Brunsman Poetry Prize
A prize of $1,000 and publication by Bear Star Press is given annually for a poetry collection by a writer residing in a state west of the central time zone. Submit a manuscript of 50 to 65 pages with a $20 entry fee by November 30. Send an SASE or visit the Web site for complete guidelines.
(See Recent Winners.)
Bear Star Press, Dorothy Brunsman Poetry Prize, 185 Hollow Oak Drive, Cohasset, CA 95973. (530) 891-0360. Beth Spencer, Editor.
www.bearstarpress.com


Black Caucus of the American Library Association
Literary Awards
Two prizes of $500 each are given annually for a book of fiction and a book of creative nonfiction written by an African American and published in the United States during the previous year. The awards, presented at the annual meeting of the American Library Association, honor original works of literature that depict the "cultural, historical, and sociopolitical aspects of the Black Diaspora." Publishers may nominate books published in 2007 by December 31. There is no entry fee. E-mail for complete guidelines and the list of jurors to whom the books should be sent. (See Recent Winners.)
Black Caucus of the American Library Association, Literary Awards, 3003 Van Ness Street NW, W522, Washington, D.C. 20008. John Page, Awards Chair.
jpage@wrlc.org
www.bcala.org


Arch and Bruce Brown Foundation
Short Story Competition
A prize of $1,000 is given every three years for a short story that presents the gay and lesbian lifestyle in a positive manner and is based on a historic person or event. More than one winner may be chosen. Submit a short story of any length by November 30. There is no entry fee. Send an SASE or visit the Web site for complete guidelines.
Arch and Bruce Brown Foundation, Short Story Competition, 2500 North Palm Canyon Drive, #A4, Palm Springs, CA 92262. Arch Brown,
President.
www.aabbfoundation.org


Cintas Foundation
Fiction Fellowship
A fellowship of $15,000 will be given biennially for a fiction writer of Cuban descent to pursue a writing project. Cuban citizens, or writers with a Cuban parent or grandparent, who are not pursuing academic studies are eligible. Submit two copies of a fiction manuscript of up to 25 pages and two letters of recommendation by January 14, 2008. There is no entry fee. Send an SASE or visit the Web site for the required application and complete guidelines.
Cintas Foundation, Fiction Fellowship, c/o Dewey Ballantine, LLP, 1301 Avenue of the Americas, Suite 2907, New York, NY 10019-6092.
www.cintasfoundation.org


Cleveland Foundation
Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards
Two prizes of $10,000 each are given annually for books of poetry, fiction, or creative nonfiction published in the previous year that "contribute to society's understanding of racism or appreciation of the rich diversity of human cultures." Submit five copies of a book published in 2007 by December 31. There is no entry fee. Call, e-mail, or visit the Web site for the required application and complete guidelines. (See Recent Winners.)
Cleveland Foundation, Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards, 700 West Saint Clair Avenue, Suite 414, Cleveland, OH 44113. (216) 861-3810.
www.anisfield-wolf.org


Merton Institute for Contemplative Living
Thomas Merton Poetry of the Sacred Award
A prize of $500 and publication in Merton Seasonal is given annually for a single poem. Submit a poem of no more than 100 lines by December 31. There is no entry fee. Send an SASE, call, e-mail,or visit the Web site for complete guidelines.
Merton Institute for Contemplative Living, Thomas Merton Poetry of the Sacred Award, 2117 Payne Street, Louisville, KY 40206. (502) 899-1991. Vanessa Hurst, Assistant Director.
vhurst@mertoninstitute.org
www.mertoninstitute.org


University of Notre Dame Press
Andrés Montoya Poetry Prize
A prize of $1,000 and publication by the University of Notre Dame Press is given biennially for a poetry collection by a Latino poet who has not yet published a book. Submit two copies of a manuscript of 50 to 100 pages by January 15, 2008. There is no entry fee. E-mail or visit the Web site for complete guidelines.
University of Notre Dame Press, Andrés Montoya Poetry Prize, Institute for Latino Studies, 230 McKenna Hall, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556. Francisco Aragón, Director.
faragon@nd.edu
www.nd.edu/~latino/poetry_prize


Puffin Foundation
Artist Grants
Grants of $1,000 to $2,500 each are given annually to emerging poets, fic tion writers, creative nonfiction writers, and other artists "whose works due to their genre and/or social philosophy might have difficulty being aired." U.S. residents may submit an application form, project description, project goals, budget, biographical information, and either a small work sample or references by December 30. There is no entry fee. Send an SASE for the required application and complete guidelines.
Puffin Foundation, Artist Grants, 20 Puffin Way, Teaneck, NJ 07666-4111. (201) 836-8923. Gladys Miller-Rosenstein, Executive Director.
puffingrant@mindspring.com
www.puffinfoundation.org


This entry has a $10 entry fee.
University of Southern California
Ann Stanford Poetry Prize
A prize of $1,000 and publication in Southern California Review, the literary journal of USC's Master of Professional Writing Program, is given annually for a single poem. Submit three to five poems with a $10 entry fee, which includes a copy of Southern California Review, by December 31. Send an SASE, call, e-mail, or visit the Web site for complete guidelines.
Fiction Prize
A prize of $1,000 and publication in Southern California Review will be given annually for a short story. Submit a story of up to 8,000 words with a $10 entry fee, which includes a copy of Southern California Review, by December 31. Send an SASE, call, e-mail, or visit the Web site for complete guidelines.
University of Southern California, Master of Professional Writing Program, Southern California Review, 3501 Trousdale Parkway, Mark Taper Hall, THH 355J, Los Angeles, CA 90089-0355. (213) 740-3253. Annlee Ellingson, Editor in Chief.
scr@college.usc.edu
www.usc.edu/scr

Earth life

Breathing earth

The birth/death rate here just reflects human life. I wonder what the numbers would be if, say, animals destined for the slaughterhouse were factored in.

A good ol' girl

To: Cairo * From: Asia * July 10, 1995

Cairo - my Baby!

I love you
Bark Bark
meow (just kidding)
He he
Grrrowl
*Pat – Pat*
*Rub – Rub*

Take a flea bath

Go to the Lake

I MISS you ---

momma

November 4th, 2007 - 12:27 pm

I shouldn't be surprised. Her health had been failing, the latest a tumor under the eye. Last night, suddenly, she started hemorrhaging and it was clear that her time had come. Still I am stunned that how between yesterday and today, she is gone.

Actually, that's a smile. Even as a pup Cairo had
a wacky, wonderful smile but in the beginning I insisted
she wear this mask when my daughter brought her over.
I felt really bad about it but it was the only way to keep her
from consuming the house plants.

From a letter dated 7/18/95

Aside to CAIRO

I had a dream with you in it. It involved boats, of course, and tides and travel. Strange dream. I remember you running around exploring, doing your own thing. You weren't constantly by my side but whenever I called you, you came running with your tail wagging. I miss you so very much. Often, when I'm out walking, I look down and imagine you trotting alongside me with your fur shining and your tongue hanging out the side of your mouth.



I love you.

Momma



I was always trying to photograph that smile, but whenever she broke into it, she was also wiggling too fast to "capture" it. This was about as close as I ever got. In the next second, when she was in a full grin, she had already hopped and wiggled out of range. She greeted everyone with complete joy although every now and then somebody would freak out thinking she was being aggressive. I felt bad for both of them but especially Cairo because animals always pay the price for our ignorance. Sometimes I thought I should hang a sign from her collar saying, "SHE'S SMILING AT YOU, STUPID!"

She lived with all of us at different times,
and was always ready for a road trip
but loved her Momma best of all.

Waiting for someone, anyone, to join her for a walk

or toss her a snowball

Cairo and her Momma.

Eventually Asia sent me a dog nose mask, as its teeth were a bit like Cairo's in full grin. I took a photo of that mask this afternoon, after Cairo died. I didn't plan to blur the shot for some arty effect. The photograph just came out this way so finally I see. Cairo's smile could no more be "captured" than the twinkling of a star.

Another Dog's Death
in
Collected Poems, 1953-1993
by John Updike
Knopf

For days the good old bitch had been dying, her back
pinched down to the spine and arched to ease the pain,
her kidneys dry, her muzzle white. At last
I took a shovel into the woods and dug her grave
in preparation for the certain. She came along,
which I had not expected. Still, the children gone,
such expeditions were rare, and the dog,
spayed early, knew no nonhuman word for love.
She made her stiff legs trot and let her bent tail wag.
We found a spot we liked, where the pines met the
field.
The sun warmed her fur as she dozed and I dug;
I carved her a safe place while she protected me.
I measured her length with the shovel's long handle;
she perked in amusement, and sniffed the heaped-up
earth.
Back down at the house, she seemed friskier,
but gagged, eating. We called the vet a few days later.
They were old friends. She held up a paw, and he
injected a violet fluid. She swooned on the lawn;
we watched her breathing quickly slow and cease.
In a wheelbarrow up to the hole, her warm fur shone.

At the end, livin' the good life with grandpa.

"More than just a dog, she is her own Era"
by her Momma

Digital nightmare

Backing up that precious manuscript? Remember to use a flash drive, send copies to an online email account or both. And, in the interest of your own personal mental health, I suggest you give each version a separate and distinct name. This guy doesn't have a backup and has a presentation in 10 minutes.

(I tried posting the clip but, for some reason, it screws up my template but you can watch it here. Trust me. It's worth a click.)

CRASH

Watch your butt

Okay, NaNos, if you haven't finished your 1,667 words yet today, take a little break (00:25) then get back to work!

Photocopy your ass

00:25

Death industry

Seeing as how it's just one day after Halloween, here's a timely upbeat little clip from the Good Magazine called

The business of death

03:27

Halloween fire circle cast party

As it turned Mme. Nott and Wolfie kept an eye on

Straw Woman. The troupe convinced me that
Halloween is just too big to leave to an amateur.

Astoundingly beautiful, the seeds the pumpkin left
behind, tucked carefully away for the future.

The kids came for their candy
while inside the cast party got under way.

Confessional
a poem I wrote years ago
but read tonight at the
Invisible Theatre Halloween cast party.
Everybody loved it. Scared the stuffing
out of them, especially Little Bear.

02:15

Happy Halloween

It's cloudy today and the scene in the Bird Park is completely different than it was yesterday when the Buddha Bird was the first to arrive. This morning the magpies made it here first, around 7:30, which is a bit late for them but it's cloudy. They didn't stay long enough to eat though. A couple of them got into a knock down roll in the dirt fist fight, or I guess I should say claw fight or claw, wing and beak fight. It was brutal. They made such a fuss they scared themselves off and everybody else when with them. Dummies. The lone magpie who comes about 8, after they are gone, will be happy for that. More goodies for him. I'm pretty sure he used to be the early bird, until the gang started tagging along. Hard to cover your tracks in the air. Now he comes back after the boobs takes off and I make a point of having a bit of birdie brunch waiting.

And what's up with pigeons? They must have radar eyes. I tucked some chicken scratch away in Old Guy Hills for the quail but the pigeons were all over it this morning, with the quail perched on the fence just watching them. Now I have to cut everybody off for a while, until the pigeons go back to their regular routine of stopping by for a cold tub and the few sunflower seeds the finches drop beneath the feeder. Ah the drama.

Happy Halloween. I strung lights last night. Looks pretty good, even if I do say so myself. The stage hogs at the Invisible Theatre, headed up by Uncle Monkey and Rat Woman of course, are agitated because I brought in outside talent to be the greeter this evening. Now everybody is miffed. They consider Halloween their gig, exclusively. It's not in their contract but tell them that. I hope they don't decide to pull some Halloween tricks on me.

Eternal Sunshine of the Buddha Bird

Buddha Bird came by today. First one in the Park this morning and had it all to herself. Great to see her again. I thought she was dead but in the magical world of the Bird Park, they live forever. As usual, she sat serenely on the feeder perch for at least 20 minutes before beginning breakfast.

In other news, yesterday's storm left that lovely leaf on my window and the San Carlos sailors set out this morning on another camping trip. This time they are headed north for 5 or 6 days looking for that ever illusive lonely lagoon in which to drop anchor. All in all, today is off to a good start. I hope yours is too. If not, remember you can start it over any time.

Drift, ruhf cut

This damn project is getting on my nerves. Today I got so frustrated that I was about ready to throw my synthesizer and mixer out into the street. It's so technical. I can't even figure out how to get the mic to run through the mixer. Arg! I know. RTFM! But it overwhelms me. A guy came over a while ago and set it up but didn't really show me how to do it myself. Later I detached the mic for a reading and now can't figure out how to plug the damn thing back into the system. I'm over it now, for the moment. I decided to keep it simple and just do something. I always feel better when I do something. It's the ADD and OCD, don't ya know?

So here's a beta version video. I made it this afternoon. It's one of two or three I haven't deleted since starting this project two weeks ago. I've got mixed feelings about posting it as it's very [ruhf] : having a coarse or uneven surface, as from projections, irregularities, or breaks; not smooth". Plus, it doesn't help that the dishwasher is roaring in the background. I was just dinking around on the keyboard with the camera on. I had no plans to use any of it but at one point I did the poem over the sound and it kinda worked or at least resembles what I'm working towards. So it goes. Unwrapped and unruly as it is, it's a marker on the way and I'm posting it.

The poem is called Drift. I wrote it couple of years ago. The accompaniment is improvised and, you guessed it, [ruhf]. Among other problems, the pace is lagged and faltering. Anyway, it's a moment in my afternoon I decided to share with you. If I wait until everything is perfect, I'll never do it. I hope you find something in it to enjoy but, whatever the case, please don't shoot the piano player.


Drift

03:08

Trip report and local woes

I wouldn't say they threw caution to the wind but M. Lee and friend got over the rough start at the beginning of their trip. It took a few days but after they got to San Carlos, got settled, got the boat moored safely in the harbor and talked things over, the chance to sail some beautiful lagoon inaccessible but by the sea proved too great to pass up. No surprise. They left on Thursday, so were out during the full moon. Must have been lovely. They are supposed to be back this afternoon so the alarm on my built-in worry clock is set to go off tomorrow morning if I don't hear from them but until then I shall wave off images of pirates, rough seas and unforeseeable circumstance.

As for me, I have been hard at work making and deleting videos. I am just not comfortable in front of the camera but am driven to make my peace with it. Who knows why but at this point, I'd be happy if I managed to read even one of my poems without seizing up. We shall see.

Lookin' good

I managed a quick shot before they took the stitches out of my hand the other day. It feels like there's a cardboard disc in the middle of my palm and a strap running horizontally across the middle of it. Scar tissue. Now it's up to me to exercise the hell out of my hand in order to break that down.

NaNo Portland news

I am still on the mailing lists of three regional NaNoWriMo forums from last year - SF/SAC , NV Elsewhere and Portland - and am vicariously enjoying the hubbub as November draws near. Perhaps I should get a life. Anyway, I know a couple of you Portlanders have decided to do the marathon this time and, in case you haven't joined your local NaNo group yet (do it), here's the kickoff news. From now on you guys are on your own. Got to keep my co-dependency in check. I highly recommend you get to know some of the local participants. Fellow writers. Expand your world. The first event is THIS Saturday.

October 27
*Kickoff Gathering* THIS saturday, 3-5pm
US Bank Room, Central Library, 801 SW 10th Ave
http://www.multcolib.org/agcy/cen.html
It will be a time for people new to NaNoWriMo and/or Portland to learn more about the wonderful craziness that is NaNoWriMo and the extreme fabulousness of our region. Returning folks can reconnect with those they haven't seen since last November. We'll all get energized and inspired for another incredible month of writing mania.

If you would like to bring a snack to share at the Kickoff, please do so.

October 31
*Halloween Midnight Write-in (east side)*
Fireside Coffee Lodge, 1223 SE Powell Blvd
http://firesidecoffeelodge.com
Get there some time before 12:00 am Nov 1 if you can't bear to wait any longer to start writing. The Fireside is open 24-hours so you can stay as long as you want. Please plan to spend at least $2.50 to support the Fireside. Electrical outlets and free wireless internet available. Thanks to Connie (Gostiee), who is also our regional ML for Script Frenzy, for organizing this event!

October 31
*Halloween Midnight Write-in (west side)*
Ava Roasteria, 4655 SW Hall Ave, Beaverton
http://www.avaroasteria.com/
Get there some time before 12:00 am Nov 1 if you can't bear to wait any longer to start writing. Ava Roasteria is open 24-hours so you can stay as long as you want. Please plan to spend at least $2.50 to support the cafe. Electrical outlets and free wireless internet available. ML Stephen is organizing this event.

November 1
*Downtown Write-in*, 5-7pm
Pioneer Place Mall food court
ML Heather is organizing this event

Ps. If you do nothing else, at least check out the Fireside Coffee Lodge. This is where the Halloween Midnight Write-in is taking place. It's open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Good to know when the midnight writing frenzy is upon you.

Rainbows and bitter sweet endings

We can smell smoke from the California fires all the way up here in Northern Nevada. Which got me to thinking. At it's best, life is bitter sweet but lately with all the fires, wars, floods, famine, genocide and idiot, shit-for-brains leaders ransacking the world at fever pitch, the balance has decidedly morphed bitter so it's time to break out the violins and fiddle up a rainbow. So... grab a refill, kick back and let National Geographic do just that.


Bitter sweet
Elephants Mourning

1:04



Sweet bitter sweet
Wild Horses Kick Butt

2:22


Note: You crusty old neocons could learn something from this horse who knows more about the teachings of Sun Tzu in one hoof than all of you put together. A great warrior radiates strength. He doesn't have to fight to the death. ~ Art of War.

Daily flash

-Final draft-


I am a daily Huffpo reader. In fact I visit Arianna's site and other political blogs through the day and rant a lot about the subject here but before Bush, I wasn't much into politics. Always figured it only scratched the surface. I thought, and still do, that we have to go deeper for solutions. I didn't march for peace or women or civil rights, not that I don't believe in all that. Instead, I sought the answers through poetry, art, music, cultivating spiritual awareness and a hell of lot of booze and dope, believing that changes must occur at a subterranean level first if they are to survive the forces of ignorance and apathy later. I've since given up the chemical path to enlightenment but still believe in the rest. On the other hand, perhaps because of people like me who don't want to be drawn away from our personal pursuits, our county is sinking in the ocean of shit and our shit-for-brains president and pirate crew are looting not only America in broad daylight, but the world, as we watch, slack-jawed. I suppose it's only history repeating itself, but damn. This time I thought it was going to be different.

These days I am having one of those out of body experiences you read about, where the observer is the observed. I feel like a gawker at a car wreck. I am watching America implode, mesmerized by the gore, detached, a bystander uninvolved in the outcome. As though it has nothing to do with me. As though my life will continue unaffected by what happens to the bleeding survivor trapped in the twisted metal. So what if our country has been hijacked from within? As though all I have to do is shop and pay my bills with a credit card and everything will turn out okay in the end. Because, after all, I am a good person.

I wax and wane in this hypnotic trance but, until now, I still trusted that if enough of us spoke out together we would not only wake ourselves up, we could abort this hostile take over of America but something Arianna posted this morning challenged that assumption.

"So, it can no longer be denied: the right wing lunatics are running the Republican asylum."

"No longer be denied? No LONGER?"

Just now Arianna, one of the enlightened ones, is coming to this? The Republican party is a right wing lunatic organization. Look at their actions. Actions speak louder than sound bites. If Arianna is just now seeing this then, not only is the Republican party a band of right wing lunatics, we are more compliant and sunk deeper in the morass than I had ever dare imagine.

We can count on one thing. The world sees us for what we are, a blood-thirsty mob of crippled bullies satisfied to talk about change as long as nothing changes. Blah blah blah. Lately, I've been trying to get out of this mental dance-o-death. Concentrate on poetry, puppets, music. Friends, sick of my rants, have been encouraging me. I don't know. Seems there is no going back. And no way forward.

Tomorrow has finally arrived

Uncle Monkey welcomes you.

Fruity Rudy - Giuliani in the wild

I don't give a shit if Fruity Rudy gets his freak on but the hypocrite promises to support a constitutional ban on gay marriages. What's up with that, Giuliani? Right out of the Bush mold, politics trumps Constitution and Bill of Rights every fucking time.



Giuliani Fruity Rudy civil rights gay marriage

Bible Babel

I never did care for the bible. Growing up Catholic, the church wouldn't even let us laity read it. Confusing, the priests said. 5th class scripture, Bhaktivedanta said later. And I really don't like the bible these days with THE SAVED running helter skelter condemning everybody to hell who doesn't accept their patented SALVATION. I understand this clip from the West Wing has been around for a while but I just found it tonight via 2parse/blog and find it very satisfying. Next time one of THE SAVED starts spewing their cherries, I'm going to lob a few of these, chapter and verse. Oh I know they have "explanations" for everything but choir member I am not.


Scene from the West Wing - Bible quotes

NaNoWriMo tips

my apologies to Benedetta Bonichi for screwing with her beautiful artwork.

"Art is never finished, only abandoned." - Leonardo da Vinci

To which I add, "To abandon a work, one must first begin it."

NaNoWriMo is coming up and for those of you preparing to do it this year, here are the tips as promised.

Abandon all, ye who enter here.
Husband/wife/partner/children/friends/pets/work associates/probation officer. Let them all know in advance that they are on their own for the month of November, orphans all, no exceptions. One successful NaNo writer here in Reno, she completed 3 manuscripts in the last 3 years, prepares in October. She fills the freezer with frozen dinners, stuffs the pantry with snacks and easy to prepare boxed meals, soup to nuts, to keep the family alive while she lives the dream. They will survive. November is novel writing month. They can deal with it if you make it clear in advance that this is their only option. Don't worry. Besides, it is over all too soon.

Be a slob.
Another thing this woman does is buy a few sets of cheap sweat pants and tops in advance so that she doesn't have to think about what she's going to wear during NaNoWriMo. If you have to deal with a dress code at work, church, seeing your PO ... whatever ... figure it all out now. You don't want to waste time doing it November.

Word count is everything.
Tell the damn Internal Editor to take a hike. Don't edit. Write. No exceptions. Be a word slut. Keep the fingers moving no matter how nasty the writing may be. One thing I did to throw my IE off the scent was change the color of my font from black to white. Silly as that may sound, it helped.

Avoid distractions at all cost.
Admit your powerlessness over people, places and things. For example, I quickly learned that I could not write in my office because when I am here I always end up down the rabbit hole. Guaranteed. It starts simply enough. Got to go to dictionary.com to look up a word or hop on google for a flash to check a reference. Lies! All lies! Once I get online it's over so I pulled the plug. I took a crummy old laptop, left the wi-fi card at home, and ran to a public place almost every day. It cost me maybe 100 bucks in bistro coffee, food and gas but it was worth it. Consider it office rent. Cheap.

Word count is EVERYTHING.
Don't Do not use contractions. Avoid hyphenated words. Expand. Let the bullshit flow. You've got what it takes. I know you do!

Participate in the NaNo community.
Join a regional NaNo forum. Don't think that you are better than everyone else, that they are amateurs and you the real writer. You can do it for 30 days. Support is vital. Visit the NaNo site often. Listen to NaNo Radio. It helps you remember what you are doing. I also donated to the project, the minimum 10 bucks which put a golden halo over my name in the forums. Besides being a way to express my appreciation for all the work the organizers put into it, I felt more a part of things. Trust me. It helps.

Get some writing buddies.
Get competitive. It makes it more real. Go to a local write-in. Get down with other crazy writers in your area. Remember, they are also trying to write the first draft of their novel in 30 days.

Don't fall behind!
If you do, the wolves will get you.

my apologies to Toby Mitchel for screwing with his charming artwork.

Write damnit! WRITE!
1666.6666666666666666666666666667 words a day. Once ya get yer groove goin, ain't no thang. Stay up to catch up. This is your month to go crazy so go crazy! If you have prepared your circle properly, they won't try to talk you out of it when your hair starts arcing with electrostatic energy.

No, I won't be participating this year. I haven't done anything with the still steaming 50,000 word pile I did last year but I will be there in spirit and checking up on your progress. It's a blast. Love it. Treat yourself to the madness and the fun. It's worth the trouble.

Behind the seen

I think Uncle Monkey is cutting some back stage deal with Rat Woman to be artistic director around here. I don't know what she has to say about things. I think that damn cape has gone to her head.

Ready? Or not.

Here it is. The sexy new black brace, mostly for night time. Three weeks of PT then the stitches come out. I can do a little two-handed typing now and I even drove to the post office to pick up my mail this afternoon. Rockin. I've been stalled on my creat-a-thon for the last two days but tomorrow I'll be back, sweating it out in front of the camera.

M. Lee and G. are now in San Carlos but they had a terrible day yesterday, just after crossing the border. The trailer broke away from the truck. Big mess. Lucky for them the damn boat didn't fall into the street. And luckily the cops didn't show up for bribes and all that bullshit. Instead a bunch of people immediately volunteered their help, including some guys in a pick up truck who luckily had a hitch and pulled them to a Pemex (the state run gas station, a monopoly) which, as luck would have it, just happened to be across the street and next door to a junkyard that, luckily, had the right size hitch. Lucky they weren't in the states where people just drive around you when you're having a problem.

Now the guy who owns the boat is a good friend. A great guy. I don't mean to be rude but he is, oh how can I say? Sloppy. His business until the trailer breaks away from the truck and one of its tires blows out in the middle of a busy Mexican street all because the fucking ball in the hitch is the wrong size. And probably the tire was bald. Then another problem today in San Carlos. The gas line for the outboard motor came off and the boat drifted to shore and beached. More luck. Sandy shore. Shallow draft. No big deal. Lucky again. And that is a problem. The right size hitch, good tires, making sure the gas lines are fitted properly? Not things you leave to luck. M. Lee is furious and G. is, as you can imagine, miserable.

They both feel horrible. In cramped quarters. They are good friends but very different. M. Lee researches everything first. Everything. But when it's done, it's right, or at least reliable. G. goes with whatever is handy. I'm more like him. This may be a shorter trip than planned. They haven't decided yet but I'm pretty sure they won't be doing any over night camping in remote lagoons.

For your amusment

Four short clips of animals
solving everyday problems.
Guaranteed to amaze and delight you
(if you have a heart).



Smart Animals - video via Metacafe

Wednesday cast removal day

None too soon, if you ask me. This thing leaves zero wiggle room and by the end of the day my hand is really annoyed. If I could just BE STILL, but alas that is never going to happen. A friend is coming by in a hour to pick me up. The doctor is in Reno but here I sit, one hand typing. That should be my new name, One Hand Typing. Or maybe Left Hand Mousing. It slows ya down, but it is a good exercise in mindfulness. I will say that. Anyway, I leave the fort. Other than to refill the bird feeders, I haven't stepped outside since the toy train left for Mexico.