.
I'm a little depressed today because I learned that Stephen Crane was my age when he died.
Five years had passed since he had published The Red Badge of Courage....
.png)
2005-11-29
Inspired!
.
Here are a handful of truely inspiring inspirations:
1. Time Management!
Perhaps it was Master Fob who pushed me in this direction, but during lunch and immediately after school, instead of blogging, I graded papers. Now it's done! And not gaining mass (and thus inertia)! That was a great idea!
2. Zippermania!
Queen Zippergut has entered the blogosphere. This is wonderful on many counts. Most importantly, now I can constantly harass her about those poor children who are still doing chores after two years! Not even Lemony Snicket would be so cruel!
3. Miyazaki!
I finally saw My Neighbor Totoro over the weekend and, well, being the red-blooded American he-man that I am, it pains me to say this but there is no way around it: My Neighbor Totoro is the cutest dern thing ever! I remember watching Siskel and Ebert go nuts over it and I have always wanted to see it and now I have. And it is great. The cute little girls. The cute little totoros. The cute big totoro with the biiiig mouth. And an umbrella!
I first came to adore Miyazaki's work when I saw Spirited Away, which is still my favorite, but I my first Miyazaki film was Princess Mononoke. I saw it and said to myself that never have a felt such a cultural disconnect after watching a movie. I didn't know which side was the good guys and that left me disoriented. And I knew I needed to watch it again. I still haven't, but now that I'm a big fan, I suppose I ought to. But I think I'll do it with subtitles--Jada Pinkett Smith's voice was the biggest disconnect of all!
Anyway, back to cute, if you can't be cured of your red-blooded American he-manness by a totoro of the little soot sprites eating sprinkles in Spirited Away then your soul is dead!
4. Blogpatrol!
I started a big post in response to Cicada's that I may never finish, but let me just say that all of you looking for naked women from tehachapi should note the change in the blog's name. No more of that here!
5. Enthusiastic punctuation!
Yeaaaa!
Here are a handful of truely inspiring inspirations:
1. Time Management!
Perhaps it was Master Fob who pushed me in this direction, but during lunch and immediately after school, instead of blogging, I graded papers. Now it's done! And not gaining mass (and thus inertia)! That was a great idea!
2. Zippermania!
Queen Zippergut has entered the blogosphere. This is wonderful on many counts. Most importantly, now I can constantly harass her about those poor children who are still doing chores after two years! Not even Lemony Snicket would be so cruel!
3. Miyazaki!
I finally saw My Neighbor Totoro over the weekend and, well, being the red-blooded American he-man that I am, it pains me to say this but there is no way around it: My Neighbor Totoro is the cutest dern thing ever! I remember watching Siskel and Ebert go nuts over it and I have always wanted to see it and now I have. And it is great. The cute little girls. The cute little totoros. The cute big totoro with the biiiig mouth. And an umbrella!
I first came to adore Miyazaki's work when I saw Spirited Away, which is still my favorite, but I my first Miyazaki film was Princess Mononoke. I saw it and said to myself that never have a felt such a cultural disconnect after watching a movie. I didn't know which side was the good guys and that left me disoriented. And I knew I needed to watch it again. I still haven't, but now that I'm a big fan, I suppose I ought to. But I think I'll do it with subtitles--Jada Pinkett Smith's voice was the biggest disconnect of all!
Anyway, back to cute, if you can't be cured of your red-blooded American he-manness by a totoro of the little soot sprites eating sprinkles in Spirited Away then your soul is dead!
4. Blogpatrol!
I started a big post in response to Cicada's that I may never finish, but let me just say that all of you looking for naked women from tehachapi should note the change in the blog's name. No more of that here!
5. Enthusiastic punctuation!
Yeaaaa!
2005-11-28
Second best
.
Well, you can forget that fabulous post I was promising because the internet is running at full molasses here at Bedrock High and if I want to get to the post office before it closes (and I do--just ask Lady Steed), I need to cut and run, spellcheck&coollinkfree.
So one quick story:
I have broken down. The threats levvied by Cicada and Miss Hass have gotten to me at last and I have taken out a gmail account that is representative of my real name. I have NEVER purposefully made an email account that uses my real name as raw material before and I am not happy about it.
My email addresses have not been eatmyshortsesque in nature. They have had pizzazz, spunk, verve, personality, yes, but they have not been juvenile. But now I have been led to believe that there are people in this world who would group all non-name-based emails into that category. And this makes me sad.
And a turncoat, yellerbellied givein.
And if I start using that address on my manuscripts, etc, I will have to start checking that account with regularity which thought I dread....
You see what happens when you open up your mind to polluting notions?
I fear that tomorrow morning when I see this post I will think, "Heavens, Theric. Why did you post at all. Better to have waited until today and apologized for not posting as promised."
And here, in the spirit of lousy posts everywhere, I will hit post without even reading this over to check for sense, spelling, intelligence, embarrassing lapses resulting in self-disclosure, etc.
Adieu.
Well, you can forget that fabulous post I was promising because the internet is running at full molasses here at Bedrock High and if I want to get to the post office before it closes (and I do--just ask Lady Steed), I need to cut and run, spellcheck&coollinkfree.
So one quick story:
I have broken down. The threats levvied by Cicada and Miss Hass have gotten to me at last and I have taken out a gmail account that is representative of my real name. I have NEVER purposefully made an email account that uses my real name as raw material before and I am not happy about it.
My email addresses have not been eatmyshortsesque in nature. They have had pizzazz, spunk, verve, personality, yes, but they have not been juvenile. But now I have been led to believe that there are people in this world who would group all non-name-based emails into that category. And this makes me sad.
And a turncoat, yellerbellied givein.
And if I start using that address on my manuscripts, etc, I will have to start checking that account with regularity which thought I dread....
You see what happens when you open up your mind to polluting notions?
I fear that tomorrow morning when I see this post I will think, "Heavens, Theric. Why did you post at all. Better to have waited until today and apologized for not posting as promised."
And here, in the spirit of lousy posts everywhere, I will hit post without even reading this over to check for sense, spelling, intelligence, embarrassing lapses resulting in self-disclosure, etc.
Adieu.
Second best
.
Well, you can forget that fabulous post I was promising because the internet is running at full molasses here at Bedrock High and if I want to get to the post office before it closes (and I do--just ask Lady Steed), I need to cut and run, spellcheck&coollinkfree.
So one quick story:
I have broken down. The threats levvied by Cicada and Miss Hass have gotten to me at last and I have taken out a gmail account that is representative of my real name. I have NEVER purposefully made an email account that uses my real name as raw material before and I am not happy about it.
My email addresses have not been eatmyshortsesque in nature. They have had pizzazz, spunk, verve, personality, yes, but they have not been juvenile. But now I have been led to believe that there are people in this world who would group all non-name-based emails into that category. And this makes me sad.
And a turncoat, yellerbellied givein.
And if I start using that address on my manuscripts, etc, I will have to start checking that account with regularity which thought I dread....
You see what happens when you open up your mind to polluting notions?
I fear that tomorrow morning when I see this post I will think, "Heavens, Theric. Why did you post at all. Better to have waited until today and apologized for not posting as promised."
And here, in the spirit of lousy posts everywhere, I will hit post without even reading this over to check for sense, spelling, intelligence, embarrassing lapses resulting in self-disclosure, etc.
Adieu.
Well, you can forget that fabulous post I was promising because the internet is running at full molasses here at Bedrock High and if I want to get to the post office before it closes (and I do--just ask Lady Steed), I need to cut and run, spellcheck&coollinkfree.
So one quick story:
I have broken down. The threats levvied by Cicada and Miss Hass have gotten to me at last and I have taken out a gmail account that is representative of my real name. I have NEVER purposefully made an email account that uses my real name as raw material before and I am not happy about it.
My email addresses have not been eatmyshortsesque in nature. They have had pizzazz, spunk, verve, personality, yes, but they have not been juvenile. But now I have been led to believe that there are people in this world who would group all non-name-based emails into that category. And this makes me sad.
And a turncoat, yellerbellied givein.
And if I start using that address on my manuscripts, etc, I will have to start checking that account with regularity which thought I dread....
You see what happens when you open up your mind to polluting notions?
I fear that tomorrow morning when I see this post I will think, "Heavens, Theric. Why did you post at all. Better to have waited until today and apologized for not posting as promised."
And here, in the spirit of lousy posts everywhere, I will hit post without even reading this over to check for sense, spelling, intelligence, embarrassing lapses resulting in self-disclosure, etc.
Adieu.
Return to brrrrrrrr
.
The teachers' lounge is not heated. And so although, as I read my friends' blogs, I feel a need to catch up with their brilliance, my fingers are numb and I am shivering.
And don't knock me because I am in the desert because, dang it, it's always about ten degrees colder here in the morning than in my mountain home--and that's after the sun comes out, during my drive! And we've had our first big cold snap!
Um. This is a lame post. But I got other stuff to do right now. I'll try to redeem myself in a few hours.
Happy postHoliday Monday, all.
The teachers' lounge is not heated. And so although, as I read my friends' blogs, I feel a need to catch up with their brilliance, my fingers are numb and I am shivering.
And don't knock me because I am in the desert because, dang it, it's always about ten degrees colder here in the morning than in my mountain home--and that's after the sun comes out, during my drive! And we've had our first big cold snap!
Um. This is a lame post. But I got other stuff to do right now. I'll try to redeem myself in a few hours.
Happy postHoliday Monday, all.
2005-11-22
I heard an Axe whizz — when I died —
.
I heard an Axe whizz — when I died —
And then — my Head — fell on the ground
I jumped and screamed and ran around
As turkey blood spilled on the Ground
Then I fell into a heap
They cut me up — and ate my meat
I hope you understand me well —
Hey, all you pilgrims? Go to hell!
I heard an Axe whizz — when I died —
And then — my Head — fell on the ground
I jumped and screamed and ran around
As turkey blood spilled on the Ground
Then I fell into a heap
They cut me up — and ate my meat
I hope you understand me well —
Hey, all you pilgrims? Go to hell!
2005-11-21
Goodbye, Tehachapiltdownman
.
Well, I made a decision. After I admitted to myself that the main reason I could not choose Thmusings was because someone else came up with it, I decided to give it a try. I don't know if I'll stick with it, but here it is.
So! Thmusings is the new name of was first called Tehachapiltdownman. The name is specific to me but generic to content, which is appropriate for this forum. It is also difficult to pronounce, which is also often said of my hairstyles.
And the prior blog name.
Which is one reason it had detractors.
You see how well I learn from my mistakes.
Now! Off to the second hundred posts!
Well, I made a decision. After I admitted to myself that the main reason I could not choose Thmusings was because someone else came up with it, I decided to give it a try. I don't know if I'll stick with it, but here it is.
So! Thmusings is the new name of was first called Tehachapiltdownman. The name is specific to me but generic to content, which is appropriate for this forum. It is also difficult to pronounce, which is also often said of my hairstyles.
And the prior blog name.
Which is one reason it had detractors.
You see how well I learn from my mistakes.
Now! Off to the second hundred posts!
2005-11-17
A rechristening
.
When I started Tehachapiltdownman I was a newsman, Romenesko addict and AJR reader. And so when I started my blog, even though I followed the lead of blogging friends and made it personal in topic, I had a desire to produce something of journalistic value. Thus the name Tehachapiltdownman.
Tehachapi because I was in the know in Tehachapi. I could let readers know things before they would otherwise know. I could be the city's inside source.
Piltdown Man because I felt like a fraud and was not sure I would provide my blog with any follow-through. I didn't know where blogging would take me, but I felt like I was moving onto ground where I did not belong.
The name was awkward and confusing and I never really liked it, although it has grown on me some. But as Lady Steed and I are preparing to leave Tehachapi and as I have never been Mr Eye-on-Tehachapi, I can no longer delay changing the name.
One thing that has kept this name change a long time in coming is that the name I want to give it, Safety First!, has an accompanying graphic that I cannot find anywhere. My favorite second choice is Ample Portions.
Next time I post I will reveal the new name of the late great Tehachapiltdownman. Your thoughts are most certainly welcome.
When I started Tehachapiltdownman I was a newsman, Romenesko addict and AJR reader. And so when I started my blog, even though I followed the lead of blogging friends and made it personal in topic, I had a desire to produce something of journalistic value. Thus the name Tehachapiltdownman.
Tehachapi because I was in the know in Tehachapi. I could let readers know things before they would otherwise know. I could be the city's inside source.
Piltdown Man because I felt like a fraud and was not sure I would provide my blog with any follow-through. I didn't know where blogging would take me, but I felt like I was moving onto ground where I did not belong.
The name was awkward and confusing and I never really liked it, although it has grown on me some. But as Lady Steed and I are preparing to leave Tehachapi and as I have never been Mr Eye-on-Tehachapi, I can no longer delay changing the name.
One thing that has kept this name change a long time in coming is that the name I want to give it, Safety First!, has an accompanying graphic that I cannot find anywhere. My favorite second choice is Ample Portions.
Next time I post I will reveal the new name of the late great Tehachapiltdownman. Your thoughts are most certainly welcome.
2005-11-16
Come celebrate with me
.
When I turned 21, I was living in a haunted house in Chinhae, South Korea, a navy town on the southern coast. I was a missionary and my birthday fell on our preparation day, a weekly 12-hour event wherein we did tangential things like visit the post office and buy rice.
Since it was my birthday and since I was the ranking member of our 6-man house, I declared that in celebration of me, we would clean our abode; I took the bathroom.
In honor of that celebratory spirit of cleaning, for this, my 100th post, I am going to clean up Tehachapiltdownman. You are about to read all the posts I started but never finished, in exciting chronological order.
Some are the briefest sketches, some are bad ideas that went too far, some are dull as all get out, some I simply thought better of.
But they all say the same thing: Happy Birthpost, Tehachapiltdownman!
Here we go:
.
Okay, consider the following following fourteen characteristics of a fictional person:
1. Likes babies
2.
furry animals biting harry potter hot
.
Lady Steed grew up visiting her great-grandmother every summer. She learned to love painting and applesauce and the smell of old Sicilian men's food from those visits. Her great-grandmother offered Lady Steed her love of beauty and her honor of work, and they loved each other.
Thursday, she died.
Friday we drove up to the Bay Area again, arriving after midnight, arrising early the next morning for the funeral.
As I leave my job, I am leaving behind all the excellent links I have collected.
Some I will never need again.
Some I shall.
Those I will post here for me to get later. I don't pretend this will interest anyone else, this just seems like a convenient place for them.
http://hip1.sjvls.org/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=11FSU49054462.6711&profile=kehq&menu=search&ts=1107549054478
.
I wore my wood tie today.
Lady Steed gave it to me for our fifth anniversary (traditional gift: wood). It's always a big hit.
I just now realized that the other tie I rarely wear (a sequined Christmas tree) was also given me by a girl (back in high school).
I guess I require the assistance of a woman to accomplish flare.....
.
(If you haven't read this post yet, go back and do so.)
The following are some of the wonderfully literary observations made by my students on one of the aforementioned songs:
---On "Love Is..." by King Missile---
Q. How does this song fail to meet your expectations of a love song?
A. It fails because the music was horrible, and the lyrics were worst.
A. The song had really bad lyrics.
A. It just a wack song.
A. This failed to meet my expectations for a song period because it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
A. I didn't that I don't like this song because is not my type.
A. cause I HATE THIS Dumb SONG.
A. The beat was horrible
----------
Now, I had never heard of King Missile before marrying Lady Steed (she brought the cd with her) and although I don't love them, I think that "Love Is..." and other of their songs are rather funny. But these sophomores hated the song.
So now I'm wondering if I may actually be quite messed up.
.
And it's not even spring break.
I'm told that the teachers are talking about how I'm too nice and I will not last. Another teacher say sthat I will win out with kindness and the nice guy will take the day.
I would settle for a little bit of shut up.
.
Lunch is now in session at Bedrock High School. I am eating a full meal courtesy of Lady Steed and listening to the delightful sounds of kids yelling. If I were to look out the windows, I would witness posturing by tomorrow's alpha males (except those engaged in reproductive practice), chattering hubs of partially clothed girls and snatchets of kids aloofly looking on, commenting to their friends about how too cool they are for all this high school silliness.
Me, I'm in one of the five rooms I teach in
.
Why are The Beatles the greatest band that ever was?
You'll note that I am taking it as a given that they are the greatest band ever. Argue that point if you will, I'm more interested in why that is.
It seems to me that a band which, depending on how you count, was born in the first or second (possibly the third) generation of rock and roll has no right to be the greatest band that ever was. After many years of collective experience, then we should produce the greatest band that ever was.
Now, perhaps in 100 years one of the current critical droolfests (Coldplay? The White Stripes?) will be pegged as the greatest, but I have to leave my money on the Liverpudlians.
For her birthday, I gave Lady Steed "Sgt. Pepper's" and with a gift certificate she purchased "Revolver" for herself.
"Revolver" was an album I had very little familiarity with. Of course, I knew "Here, There, And Everywhere" (they were playing it at the supermarket last night) and "Yellow Submarine" (more on that in a sec), but the album as a whole was an unknown to me as when I purchased "Rubber Soul" right off my mission. (No, I was not well educated in rock as a child.)
And it is with "Rubber Soul" I would like to start.
"Rubber Soul" was, rather famously, the first album ever recorded. Before "Rubber Soul" were published collections of songs, a few good, a few filler.
.
(Inspired by daltongirl.)
When I was 19 and preparing to serve a mission, I was filling out forms and getting physicals and in need of a photo to send to the gentlemen who would send me a letter saying where I would go.
(rooster photo)
.
In my freshman classes we are writing short stories and in order to demonstrate that it is not hard, I sat down in front of the computer, turned on a projector, and performed "Writing a Short Story."
They are required to write only 500 words, but in half they time they took to do half that, I did almost double.
Now, I don't pretend that this is headed to the canon, but since it's about all the fresh I've written lately, I thought I would share and, Plant-like, give it a chance in the free market to live or die.
Here it is, in all its unresearched and unedited glory:
.
Ah, floppies.
.
The world is small.
When I served my mission---
Wait. Hold that thought.
Last week, the ten year anniversary of my entrance into the MTC passed and I didn't even notice. I don't feel that old, but it seems much much longer than ten years ago....
Anyway, when I was on my mission, I liked the two-week delay between letters sent and letters received. It created a fascinating communication dynamic which, I imagine, is all but dead now.
Ten years ago, Lady Steed and I would have heard, for instance, a rumor that Nemesis was in England (though we wouldn't call her Nemesis of course) and we would think "Huh" and that would be that. We would hope that someday we could say howdoyedo and shake hands again, but till that day, c'est la vie.
And even with email, while Lady Steed and Nemesis would write every great once-in-a-while, I would not be likely to ever communicate with her.
And so my argument that blogging may be an even bigger world-shrinker than email.
Here I go getting boring and meta again.....
.
1. The latest searches to bring the innocent to Tehachapiltdownman: "naked women for cell phones" - "dradonsbane" - "spoken word"
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
.
snowsuits in idaho
the party premakeout
the whole trickortreating thing
rumby
ggtt
.
10 -
When I turned 21, I was living in a haunted house in Chinhae, South Korea, a navy town on the southern coast. I was a missionary and my birthday fell on our preparation day, a weekly 12-hour event wherein we did tangential things like visit the post office and buy rice.
Since it was my birthday and since I was the ranking member of our 6-man house, I declared that in celebration of me, we would clean our abode; I took the bathroom.
In honor of that celebratory spirit of cleaning, for this, my 100th post, I am going to clean up Tehachapiltdownman. You are about to read all the posts I started but never finished, in exciting chronological order.
Some are the briefest sketches, some are bad ideas that went too far, some are dull as all get out, some I simply thought better of.
But they all say the same thing: Happy Birthpost, Tehachapiltdownman!
Here we go:
Behold! The id!
....8/16/2005.
Okay, consider the following following fourteen characteristics of a fictional person:
1. Likes babies
2.
furry animals biting harry potter hot
Yesterday
....8/28/2005.
Lady Steed grew up visiting her great-grandmother every summer. She learned to love painting and applesauce and the smell of old Sicilian men's food from those visits. Her great-grandmother offered Lady Steed her love of beauty and her honor of work, and they loved each other.
Thursday, she died.
Friday we drove up to the Bay Area again, arriving after midnight, arrising early the next morning for the funeral.
Not for public consumption
....8/29/2005As I leave my job, I am leaving behind all the excellent links I have collected.
Some I will never need again.
Some I shall.
Those I will post here for me to get later. I don't pretend this will interest anyone else, this just seems like a convenient place for them.
http://hip1.sjvls.org/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=11FSU49054462.6711&profile=kehq&menu=search&ts=1107549054478
Wood
....9/26/2005.
I wore my wood tie today.
Lady Steed gave it to me for our fifth anniversary (traditional gift: wood). It's always a big hit.
I just now realized that the other tie I rarely wear (a sequined Christmas tree) was also given me by a girl (back in high school).
I guess I require the assistance of a woman to accomplish flare.....
Student response
....9/26/2005.
(If you haven't read this post yet, go back and do so.)
The following are some of the wonderfully literary observations made by my students on one of the aforementioned songs:
---On "Love Is..." by King Missile---
Q. How does this song fail to meet your expectations of a love song?
A. It fails because the music was horrible, and the lyrics were worst.
A. The song had really bad lyrics.
A. It just a wack song.
A. This failed to meet my expectations for a song period because it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
A. I didn't that I don't like this song because is not my type.
A. cause I HATE THIS Dumb SONG.
A. The beat was horrible
----------
Now, I had never heard of King Missile before marrying Lady Steed (she brought the cd with her) and although I don't love them, I think that "Love Is..." and other of their songs are rather funny. But these sophomores hated the song.
So now I'm wondering if I may actually be quite messed up.
Out of control
....9/28/2005.
And it's not even spring break.
I'm told that the teachers are talking about how I'm too nice and I will not last. Another teacher say sthat I will win out with kindness and the nice guy will take the day.
I would settle for a little bit of shut up.
Lunch
....9/28/2005.
Lunch is now in session at Bedrock High School. I am eating a full meal courtesy of Lady Steed and listening to the delightful sounds of kids yelling. If I were to look out the windows, I would witness posturing by tomorrow's alpha males (except those engaged in reproductive practice), chattering hubs of partially clothed girls and snatchets of kids aloofly looking on, commenting to their friends about how too cool they are for all this high school silliness.
Me, I'm in one of the five rooms I teach in
Revolver
....10/05/2005.
Why are The Beatles the greatest band that ever was?
You'll note that I am taking it as a given that they are the greatest band ever. Argue that point if you will, I'm more interested in why that is.
It seems to me that a band which, depending on how you count, was born in the first or second (possibly the third) generation of rock and roll has no right to be the greatest band that ever was. After many years of collective experience, then we should produce the greatest band that ever was.
Now, perhaps in 100 years one of the current critical droolfests (Coldplay? The White Stripes?) will be pegged as the greatest, but I have to leave my money on the Liverpudlians.
For her birthday, I gave Lady Steed "Sgt. Pepper's" and with a gift certificate she purchased "Revolver" for herself.
"Revolver" was an album I had very little familiarity with. Of course, I knew "Here, There, And Everywhere" (they were playing it at the supermarket last night) and "Yellow Submarine" (more on that in a sec), but the album as a whole was an unknown to me as when I purchased "Rubber Soul" right off my mission. (No, I was not well educated in rock as a child.)
And it is with "Rubber Soul" I would like to start.
"Rubber Soul" was, rather famously, the first album ever recorded. Before "Rubber Soul" were published collections of songs, a few good, a few filler.
Photography
....10/06/2005.
(Inspired by daltongirl.)
When I was 19 and preparing to serve a mission, I was filling out forms and getting physicals and in need of a photo to send to the gentlemen who would send me a letter saying where I would go.
(rooster photo)
1000 words
....10/12/2005.
In my freshman classes we are writing short stories and in order to demonstrate that it is not hard, I sat down in front of the computer, turned on a projector, and performed "Writing a Short Story."
They are required to write only 500 words, but in half they time they took to do half that, I did almost double.
Now, I don't pretend that this is headed to the canon, but since it's about all the fresh I've written lately, I thought I would share and, Plant-like, give it a chance in the free market to live or die.
Here it is, in all its unresearched and unedited glory:
F******s
....10/12/2005.
Ah, floppies.
Someone somewhere is named Ridcully and I can't think who it is
....10/17/2005.
The world is small.
When I served my mission---
Wait. Hold that thought.
Last week, the ten year anniversary of my entrance into the MTC passed and I didn't even notice. I don't feel that old, but it seems much much longer than ten years ago....
Anyway, when I was on my mission, I liked the two-week delay between letters sent and letters received. It created a fascinating communication dynamic which, I imagine, is all but dead now.
Ten years ago, Lady Steed and I would have heard, for instance, a rumor that Nemesis was in England (though we wouldn't call her Nemesis of course) and we would think "Huh" and that would be that. We would hope that someday we could say howdoyedo and shake hands again, but till that day, c'est la vie.
And even with email, while Lady Steed and Nemesis would write every great once-in-a-while, I would not be likely to ever communicate with her.
And so my argument that blogging may be an even bigger world-shrinker than email.
Here I go getting boring and meta again.....
A dozen minor points
....10/31/2005.
1. The latest searches to bring the innocent to Tehachapiltdownman: "naked women for cell phones" - "dradonsbane" - "spoken word"
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
Ghosts of Halloween Past
....11/01/2005.
snowsuits in idaho
the party premakeout
the whole trickortreating thing
rumby
ggtt
Countdown to insanity
....11/14/2005.
10 -
2005-11-14
Special thanks to...
.
....whoever it was that arrived at my blog by asking Google for "snorting technique".
....whoever it was that arrived at my blog by asking Google for "snorting technique".
Ah, crap
.
I rarely turn down requests and, on another day, I might actually relish this opportunity. As it is, this may come off rather cynical. If so, I apologize in advance.
2 names you go by: Thmazing, Theric
2 parts of your heritage: Idaho, mad royalty
2 things that scare you: Lady Steed's mortality, the exponential growth in vampire population
2 things you are wearing right now: a sweet tie, black shoelaces
2 of your favorite bands or musical artists (at the moment): Sunfall Festival, Johnny Cash
2 favorite songs (at the moment): "While I've Got It on My Mind" and "My Old Faded Rose"
2 things you want in a relationship (other than real love): back scratches and mutual laughter
2 truths: people are generally good, people are often stupid
2 physical things that appeal to you (in the opposite sex): wit, taste
2 of your favorite hobbies: the highly addictive pleasure of buying too many Christmas presents for my wife, and placing my soul in the mail only to have it casually rejected
2 things you want really badly: to not hold a real job and thus (1) write professionally and (2) spend all my time with Lady Steed and the Big O
2 places you want to go on vacation: NYC, Edinburgh
2 things you want to do before you die: live safe, live long
2 ways that you are stereotypically a dude/chick: I have these soft downy feathers that cover most of my body and, when I sleep, I cheep
2 things you are thinking about now: how I ought to be grading papers, how I feel an overwhelming need to ratchet up the clever-quotient
2 stores you shop at: Amazon, Half.com
2 people you would like to see take the quiz? Master Fob and Mandi (haha!)
I rarely turn down requests and, on another day, I might actually relish this opportunity. As it is, this may come off rather cynical. If so, I apologize in advance.
2 names you go by: Thmazing, Theric
2 parts of your heritage: Idaho, mad royalty
2 things that scare you: Lady Steed's mortality, the exponential growth in vampire population
2 things you are wearing right now: a sweet tie, black shoelaces
2 of your favorite bands or musical artists (at the moment): Sunfall Festival, Johnny Cash
2 favorite songs (at the moment): "While I've Got It on My Mind" and "My Old Faded Rose"
2 things you want in a relationship (other than real love): back scratches and mutual laughter
2 truths: people are generally good, people are often stupid
2 physical things that appeal to you (in the opposite sex): wit, taste
2 of your favorite hobbies: the highly addictive pleasure of buying too many Christmas presents for my wife, and placing my soul in the mail only to have it casually rejected
2 things you want really badly: to not hold a real job and thus (1) write professionally and (2) spend all my time with Lady Steed and the Big O
2 places you want to go on vacation: NYC, Edinburgh
2 things you want to do before you die: live safe, live long
2 ways that you are stereotypically a dude/chick: I have these soft downy feathers that cover most of my body and, when I sleep, I cheep
2 things you are thinking about now: how I ought to be grading papers, how I feel an overwhelming need to ratchet up the clever-quotient
2 stores you shop at: Amazon, Half.com
2 people you would like to see take the quiz? Master Fob and Mandi (haha!)
Celebration time
.
My twenty-first birthday was spent in Chinhae, a naval town on the southern coast of the Korean peninsula. I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and my birthday fell on "preparation day"--the weekly time to do things only tangentially related to preaching the gospel (eg, go to the post office and mail a letter to Mom).
Since it was my birthday and since I outranked the other five missionaries in our haunted house (which is another post for another time), I decided that in celebration of me, we would clean the place up. I took the bathroom.
In that spirit, and in honor of my 100th post, I will now clean up by taking all the saved drafts and putting them here, a compendium of ideas and thought started but never finished. Some nearly so, some nowhere near so.
Only on the internet can someone other than Norman Mailer present rejected notions and rough drafts as being of worth to the rest of humanity.
So. Come celebrate with me.
.
Okay, consider the following following fourteen characteristics of a fictional person:
1. Likes babies
2.
furry animals biting harry potter hot
.
Lady Steed grew up visiting her great-grandmother every summer. She learned to love painting and applesauce and the smell of old Sicilian men's food from those visits. Her great-grandmother offered Lady Steed her love of beauty and her honor of work, and they loved each other.
Thursday, she died.
Friday we drove up to the Bay Area again, arriving after midnight, arrising early the next morning for the funeral.
.
As I leave my job, I am leaving behind all the excellent links I have collected.
Some I will never need again.
Some I shall.
Those I will post here for me to get later. I don't pretend this will interest anyone else, this just seems like a convenient place for them.
http://hip1.sjvls.org/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=11FSU49054462.6711&profile=kehq&menu=search&ts=1107549054478
.
I wore my wood tie today.
Lady Steed gave it to me for our fifth anniversary (traditional gift: wood). It's always a big hit.
I just now realized that the other tie I rarely wear (a sequined Christmas tree) was also given me by a girl (back in high school).
I guess I require the assistance of a woman to accomplish flare.....
.
(If you haven't read this post yet, go back and do so.)
The following are some of the wonderfully literary observations made by my students on one of the aforementioned songs:
---On "Love Is..." by King Missile---
Q. How does this song fail to meet your expectations of a love song?
A. It fails because the music was horrible, and the lyrics were worst.
A. The song had really bad lyrics.
A. It just a wack song.
A. This failed to meet my expectations for a song period because it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
A. I didn't that I don't like this song because is not my type.
A. cause I HATE THIS Dumb SONG.
A. The beat was horrible
----------
Now, I had never heard of King Missile before marrying Lady Steed (she brought the cd with her) and although I don't love them, I think that "Love Is..." and other of their songs are rather funny. But these sophomores hated the song.
So now I'm wondering if I may actually be quite messed up.
.
And it's not even spring break.
I'm told that the teachers are talking about how I'm too nice and I will not last. Another teacher say sthat I will win out with kindness and the nice guy will take the day.
I would settle for a little bit of shut up.
.
Lunch is now in session at Bedrock High School. I am eating a full meal courtesy of Lady Steed and listening to the delightful sounds of kids yelling. If I were to look out the windows, I would witness posturing by tomorrow's alpha males (except those engaged in reproductive practice), chattering hubs of partially clothed girls and snatchets of kids aloofly looking on, commenting to their friends about how too cool they are for all this high school silliness.
Me, I'm in one of the five rooms I teach in
.
Why are The Beatles the greatest band that ever was?
You'll note that I am taking it as a given that they are the greatest band ever. Argue that point if you will, I'm more interested in why that is.
It seems to me that a band which, depending on how you count, was born in the first or second (possibly the third) generation of rock and roll has no right to be the greatest band that ever was. After many years of collective experience, then we should produce the greatest band that ever was.
Now, perhaps in 100 years one of the current critical droolfests (Coldplay? The White Stripes?) will be pegged as the greatest, but I have to leave my money on the Liverpudlians.
For her birthday, I gave Lady Steed ""Sgt. Pepper's" and with a gift certificate she purchased ""Revolver" for herself.
"Revolver" was an album I had very little familiarity with. Of course, I knew "Here, There, And Everywhere" (they were playing it at the supermarket last night) and "Yellow Submarine" (more on that in a sec), but the album as a whole was an unknown to me as when I purchased ""Rubber Soul" right off my mission. (No, I was not well educated in rock as a child.)
And it is with "Rubber Soul" I would like to start.
"Rubber Soul" was, rather famously, the first album ever recorded. Before "Rubber Soul" were published collections of songs, a few good, a few filler.
.
(Inspired by daltongirl.)
When I was 19 and preparing to serve a mission, I was filling out forms and getting physicals and in need of a photo to send to the gentlemen who would send me a letter saying where I would go.
(rooster photo)
.
In my freshman classes we are writing short stories and in order to demonstrate that it is not hard, I sat down in front of the computer, turned on a projector, and performed "Writing a Short Story."
They are required to write only 500 words, but in half they time they took to do half that, I did almost double.
Now, I don't pretend that this is headed to the canon, but since it's about all the fresh I've written lately, I thought I would share and, Plant-like, give it a chance in the free market to live or die.
Here it is, in all its unresearched and unedited glory:
.
Ah, floppies.
.
The world is small.
When I served my mission---
Wait. Hold that thought.
Last week, the ten year anniversary of my entrance into the MTC passed and I didn't even notice. I don't feel that old, but it seems much much longer than ten years ago....
Anyway, when I was on my mission, I liked the two-week delay between letters sent and letters received. It created a fascinating communication dynamic which, I imagine, is all but dead now.
Ten years ago, Lady Steed and I would have heard, for instance, a rumor that Nemesis was in England (though we wouldn't call her Nemesis of course) and we would think "Huh" and that would be that. We would hope that someday we could say howdoyedo and shake hands again, but till that day, c'est la vie.
And even with email, while Lady Steed and Nemesis would write every great once-in-a-while, I would not be likely to ever communicate with her.
And so my argument that blogging may be an even bigger world-shrinker than email.
Here I go getting boring and meta again.....
.
1. The latest searches to bring the innocent to Tehachapiltdownman: "naked women for cell phones" - "dradonsbane" - "spoken word"
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
.
snowsuits in idaho
the party premakeout
the whole trickortreating thing
rumby
ggtt
.
10 -
-----------------
So! You see what you've been missing out on?
Party on,
Theric
My twenty-first birthday was spent in Chinhae, a naval town on the southern coast of the Korean peninsula. I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and my birthday fell on "preparation day"--the weekly time to do things only tangentially related to preaching the gospel (eg, go to the post office and mail a letter to Mom).
Since it was my birthday and since I outranked the other five missionaries in our haunted house (which is another post for another time), I decided that in celebration of me, we would clean the place up. I took the bathroom.
In that spirit, and in honor of my 100th post, I will now clean up by taking all the saved drafts and putting them here, a compendium of ideas and thought started but never finished. Some nearly so, some nowhere near so.
Only on the internet can someone other than Norman Mailer present rejected notions and rough drafts as being of worth to the rest of humanity.
So. Come celebrate with me.
Behold! The id!
...8/16/2005.
Okay, consider the following following fourteen characteristics of a fictional person:
1. Likes babies
2.
furry animals biting harry potter hot
Yesterday
...8/28/2005.
Lady Steed grew up visiting her great-grandmother every summer. She learned to love painting and applesauce and the smell of old Sicilian men's food from those visits. Her great-grandmother offered Lady Steed her love of beauty and her honor of work, and they loved each other.
Thursday, she died.
Friday we drove up to the Bay Area again, arriving after midnight, arrising early the next morning for the funeral.
Not for public consumption
...8/29/2005.
As I leave my job, I am leaving behind all the excellent links I have collected.
Some I will never need again.
Some I shall.
Those I will post here for me to get later. I don't pretend this will interest anyone else, this just seems like a convenient place for them.
http://hip1.sjvls.org/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=11FSU49054462.6711&profile=kehq&menu=search&ts=1107549054478
Wood
...9/26/2005.
I wore my wood tie today.
Lady Steed gave it to me for our fifth anniversary (traditional gift: wood). It's always a big hit.
I just now realized that the other tie I rarely wear (a sequined Christmas tree) was also given me by a girl (back in high school).
I guess I require the assistance of a woman to accomplish flare.....
Student response
...9/26/2005.
(If you haven't read this post yet, go back and do so.)
The following are some of the wonderfully literary observations made by my students on one of the aforementioned songs:
---On "Love Is..." by King Missile---
Q. How does this song fail to meet your expectations of a love song?
A. It fails because the music was horrible, and the lyrics were worst.
A. The song had really bad lyrics.
A. It just a wack song.
A. This failed to meet my expectations for a song period because it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
A. I didn't that I don't like this song because is not my type.
A. cause I HATE THIS Dumb SONG.
A. The beat was horrible
----------
Now, I had never heard of King Missile before marrying Lady Steed (she brought the cd with her) and although I don't love them, I think that "Love Is..." and other of their songs are rather funny. But these sophomores hated the song.
So now I'm wondering if I may actually be quite messed up.
Out of control
...9/28/2005.
And it's not even spring break.
I'm told that the teachers are talking about how I'm too nice and I will not last. Another teacher say sthat I will win out with kindness and the nice guy will take the day.
I would settle for a little bit of shut up.
Lunch
...9/28/2005.
Lunch is now in session at Bedrock High School. I am eating a full meal courtesy of Lady Steed and listening to the delightful sounds of kids yelling. If I were to look out the windows, I would witness posturing by tomorrow's alpha males (except those engaged in reproductive practice), chattering hubs of partially clothed girls and snatchets of kids aloofly looking on, commenting to their friends about how too cool they are for all this high school silliness.
Me, I'm in one of the five rooms I teach in
Revolver
...10/05/2005.
Why are The Beatles the greatest band that ever was?
You'll note that I am taking it as a given that they are the greatest band ever. Argue that point if you will, I'm more interested in why that is.
It seems to me that a band which, depending on how you count, was born in the first or second (possibly the third) generation of rock and roll has no right to be the greatest band that ever was. After many years of collective experience, then we should produce the greatest band that ever was.
Now, perhaps in 100 years one of the current critical droolfests (Coldplay? The White Stripes?) will be pegged as the greatest, but I have to leave my money on the Liverpudlians.
For her birthday, I gave Lady Steed ""Sgt. Pepper's" and with a gift certificate she purchased ""Revolver" for herself.
"Revolver" was an album I had very little familiarity with. Of course, I knew "Here, There, And Everywhere" (they were playing it at the supermarket last night) and "Yellow Submarine" (more on that in a sec), but the album as a whole was an unknown to me as when I purchased ""Rubber Soul" right off my mission. (No, I was not well educated in rock as a child.)
And it is with "Rubber Soul" I would like to start.
"Rubber Soul" was, rather famously, the first album ever recorded. Before "Rubber Soul" were published collections of songs, a few good, a few filler.
Photography
...10/06/2005.
(Inspired by daltongirl.)
When I was 19 and preparing to serve a mission, I was filling out forms and getting physicals and in need of a photo to send to the gentlemen who would send me a letter saying where I would go.
(rooster photo)
1000 words
...10/12/2005.
In my freshman classes we are writing short stories and in order to demonstrate that it is not hard, I sat down in front of the computer, turned on a projector, and performed "Writing a Short Story."
They are required to write only 500 words, but in half they time they took to do half that, I did almost double.
Now, I don't pretend that this is headed to the canon, but since it's about all the fresh I've written lately, I thought I would share and, Plant-like, give it a chance in the free market to live or die.
Here it is, in all its unresearched and unedited glory:
F******s
...10/12/2005.
Ah, floppies.
Someone somewhere is named Ridcully and I can't think who it is
...10/17/2005.
The world is small.
When I served my mission---
Wait. Hold that thought.
Last week, the ten year anniversary of my entrance into the MTC passed and I didn't even notice. I don't feel that old, but it seems much much longer than ten years ago....
Anyway, when I was on my mission, I liked the two-week delay between letters sent and letters received. It created a fascinating communication dynamic which, I imagine, is all but dead now.
Ten years ago, Lady Steed and I would have heard, for instance, a rumor that Nemesis was in England (though we wouldn't call her Nemesis of course) and we would think "Huh" and that would be that. We would hope that someday we could say howdoyedo and shake hands again, but till that day, c'est la vie.
And even with email, while Lady Steed and Nemesis would write every great once-in-a-while, I would not be likely to ever communicate with her.
And so my argument that blogging may be an even bigger world-shrinker than email.
Here I go getting boring and meta again.....
A dozen minor points
...10/31/2005.
1. The latest searches to bring the innocent to Tehachapiltdownman: "naked women for cell phones" - "dradonsbane" - "spoken word"
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
Ghosts of Halloween Past
...11/01/2005.
snowsuits in idaho
the party premakeout
the whole trickortreating thing
rumby
ggtt
Countdown to insanity
...11/14/2005.
10 -
-----------------
So! You see what you've been missing out on?
Party on,
Theric
2005-11-10
Re: Veterans Day
.
No school tomorrow or the next day or the next day so I shall probably not be online again until Monday. So don't worry, it's not the bird flu.
Other things my absence is not include sabbatical, paintball expedition, hiding from French rioters, mourning lost loves, and closed-door senate session.
What aren't you doing this weekend?
No school tomorrow or the next day or the next day so I shall probably not be online again until Monday. So don't worry, it's not the bird flu.
Other things my absence is not include sabbatical, paintball expedition, hiding from French rioters, mourning lost loves, and closed-door senate session.
What aren't you doing this weekend?
2005-11-09
What's different
.
It it your hair?
No.
Is it your skirt?
No.
Is it that green thing eating your eye?
Yes! You noticed!
-------------
editor's note:
The preceding is an example of what might well be termed "lowbrow," an adjective suggesting that only a lower sort of person--as opposed to the educated elite (eg, viewers of Tehachapiltdownman)--would enjoy the noun being modified. In this case, of course, the noun is "Tehachapiltdownman."
Shocking, isn't it?
It it your hair?
No.
Is it your skirt?
No.
Is it that green thing eating your eye?
Yes! You noticed!
-------------
editor's note:
The preceding is an example of what might well be termed "lowbrow," an adjective suggesting that only a lower sort of person--as opposed to the educated elite (eg, viewers of Tehachapiltdownman)--would enjoy the noun being modified. In this case, of course, the noun is "Tehachapiltdownman."
Shocking, isn't it?
The morning after
.
Well, once again, I vote and the majority votes against me.
I said yes on 75% of California's ballot propositions. The majority said no to all eight.
Sometimes I think democracy is an exercise in disappointment.
Well, once again, I vote and the majority votes against me.
I said yes on 75% of California's ballot propositions. The majority said no to all eight.
Sometimes I think democracy is an exercise in disappointment.
2005-11-08
Formerly famous
.
So let's say my book ends up on the auction block and makes me rich (hahaha--will never happen, as even those of you who like it will attest). Let's say it gets made into a movie that Changes the World. Let's say I'm on Letterman and for totally unclear reasons (last-minute compromise?) I am made Poet Laureate of the United States.
Actually no. Let's be honest. None of this will ever happen because I have already burned up my fifteen minutes and I have no reason to suspect I will get a second set.
My big mistake was using them up when I was stranded in a small town on the banks of the Mississippi.
I was part of one of BYU's study "abroad" groups (if Illinois can be considered abroad) and as those of you who have been to London or Madrid or Jerusalem know, a bizarre sort of bonding occurs at these cloisters. And since my time in Nauvoo was at the opening of the Joseph Smith Academy, there were only forty students there to cloister with, and we all knew each other well.
So to sum up (and add a few more details):
Little tiny town
Small intimate group of friends
Miles and miles to decent commercial opportunities
No ready transportation to or from
(Sounds like a good horror-movie setup....)
It was at this time that I wrote a puppet musical called, cleverly, "A Musical Extravaganza."
Starring two black gloves with yarn wigs named Marcus and LeAnn, it was the story of two Nauvoo-based BYU students and, ah, their, ah, relationship.
"A Musical Extravaganza" premiered at a talent show we students put on and went into regular rotation ala "Cats" or "The Fantasticks." I was performing it most nights, often with multiple encores. I would set up stage behind a couch in the lobby and Marcus and LeAnn would sing their way to true love.
The show was not just beloved by the masses, but it was also controversial. If it had not been so powerfully popular, I think the Powers That Be would have shut it down. I was talked to a few times about the appropriateness of its content but c'mon! Did that stop "Titanic"?!
The night before we left on airplanes for home, I performed "A Musical Extravaganza" for the final time--a double-feature with its equally popular (but doubly controversial) sequel which had been debuted less that a week earlier during a long bus ride.
Then I came home to a world that had never known "A Musical Extravaganza," that could never understand the impact it had on all those who loved it and quoted it and sang its songs. And I realized that I had created a cultural touchstone that had changed the world it inhabited.
And that world consisted of only forty people.
I don't imagine I can ever build enough karma to create a life-changing, culture-altering artwork ever again.
And so I've blown my chance at fame and fortune on a smalltown puppet show, performed gratis for a bunch of expatriate byuckers.
It was fun while it lasted.
I just hope it was worth it.
So let's say my book ends up on the auction block and makes me rich (hahaha--will never happen, as even those of you who like it will attest). Let's say it gets made into a movie that Changes the World. Let's say I'm on Letterman and for totally unclear reasons (last-minute compromise?) I am made Poet Laureate of the United States.
Actually no. Let's be honest. None of this will ever happen because I have already burned up my fifteen minutes and I have no reason to suspect I will get a second set.
My big mistake was using them up when I was stranded in a small town on the banks of the Mississippi.
I was part of one of BYU's study "abroad" groups (if Illinois can be considered abroad) and as those of you who have been to London or Madrid or Jerusalem know, a bizarre sort of bonding occurs at these cloisters. And since my time in Nauvoo was at the opening of the Joseph Smith Academy, there were only forty students there to cloister with, and we all knew each other well.
So to sum up (and add a few more details):
Little tiny town
Small intimate group of friends
Miles and miles to decent commercial opportunities
No ready transportation to or from
(Sounds like a good horror-movie setup....)
It was at this time that I wrote a puppet musical called, cleverly, "A Musical Extravaganza."
Starring two black gloves with yarn wigs named Marcus and LeAnn, it was the story of two Nauvoo-based BYU students and, ah, their, ah, relationship.
"A Musical Extravaganza" premiered at a talent show we students put on and went into regular rotation ala "Cats" or "The Fantasticks." I was performing it most nights, often with multiple encores. I would set up stage behind a couch in the lobby and Marcus and LeAnn would sing their way to true love.
The show was not just beloved by the masses, but it was also controversial. If it had not been so powerfully popular, I think the Powers That Be would have shut it down. I was talked to a few times about the appropriateness of its content but c'mon! Did that stop "Titanic"?!
The night before we left on airplanes for home, I performed "A Musical Extravaganza" for the final time--a double-feature with its equally popular (but doubly controversial) sequel which had been debuted less that a week earlier during a long bus ride.
Then I came home to a world that had never known "A Musical Extravaganza," that could never understand the impact it had on all those who loved it and quoted it and sang its songs. And I realized that I had created a cultural touchstone that had changed the world it inhabited.
And that world consisted of only forty people.
I don't imagine I can ever build enough karma to create a life-changing, culture-altering artwork ever again.
And so I've blown my chance at fame and fortune on a smalltown puppet show, performed gratis for a bunch of expatriate byuckers.
It was fun while it lasted.
I just hope it was worth it.
Pending byuck
.
I am about two months behind in my self-imposed schedule, but I am getting near sending off my revamped book proposal. All my research and talking with professionals failed to prepare me for the strange, strange process selling this book would follow. But at the end of the road, I am sure that my book will find its audience. It has rabid fans in its unpublished state, so surely it could make money--don't you think?
Those of you who frequent Tehachapiltdownman and doubt that its author could write a book, let me here state some vital differences between my blogging and my booking.
Every sentence in my byucky marvel has been carefully honed to make grown men weep and grown women wet themselves laughing.
Blog posts tend to get read over a couple times before being thrown out to the world.
My book went through years of prewriting and rewriting.
I often have no idea what a post will be about until I've already typed half of it.
My book should come with a triple-your-money-back guarantee.
This blog is worth exactly what you pay for it.
But anyway, in a matter of days, I will be sending the new version of my proposal (which is dozens of pages longer than any expert will tell you one should be) back to a publisher which behaves much like the large-mouth bass that lives at the bottom of the reservoir and has grown to a length of eighty feet soley on a diet of nightcrawlers stolen from young writers' hooks. I would love to tell the story (stories) of my roundabout relation with this company's head editor but there is the possibility that Edgy works for her and if I said something untoward, I would not want to scandalize him.
Speaking of Edgy....
For those who don't know, he works at a Utah-based publication company and one of my hobbies is trying to discern which one. Since I confessed this to him, there have been nearly zero further clues and so my hobby is perishing. But I rather hope he works in an office that will see my manuscript plop into his inbox--after all, I like Edgy, he likes me, how he help but to love my book?
The truth of the matter is, I would love to see this thing in print partly so I could start doing something else. Every other creative project I embark on has byucky ballast, as my manuscript kicks around in the back in my mind saying, "Hey! You! What am I still doing here?"
And that would be a good point to end on--don't write a book unless you want to have it constantly whining at you until it's happily published. I swear, they're worse than children.
I am about two months behind in my self-imposed schedule, but I am getting near sending off my revamped book proposal. All my research and talking with professionals failed to prepare me for the strange, strange process selling this book would follow. But at the end of the road, I am sure that my book will find its audience. It has rabid fans in its unpublished state, so surely it could make money--don't you think?
Those of you who frequent Tehachapiltdownman and doubt that its author could write a book, let me here state some vital differences between my blogging and my booking.
Every sentence in my byucky marvel has been carefully honed to make grown men weep and grown women wet themselves laughing.
Blog posts tend to get read over a couple times before being thrown out to the world.
My book went through years of prewriting and rewriting.
I often have no idea what a post will be about until I've already typed half of it.
My book should come with a triple-your-money-back guarantee.
This blog is worth exactly what you pay for it.
But anyway, in a matter of days, I will be sending the new version of my proposal (which is dozens of pages longer than any expert will tell you one should be) back to a publisher which behaves much like the large-mouth bass that lives at the bottom of the reservoir and has grown to a length of eighty feet soley on a diet of nightcrawlers stolen from young writers' hooks. I would love to tell the story (stories) of my roundabout relation with this company's head editor but there is the possibility that Edgy works for her and if I said something untoward, I would not want to scandalize him.
Speaking of Edgy....
For those who don't know, he works at a Utah-based publication company and one of my hobbies is trying to discern which one. Since I confessed this to him, there have been nearly zero further clues and so my hobby is perishing. But I rather hope he works in an office that will see my manuscript plop into his inbox--after all, I like Edgy, he likes me, how he help but to love my book?
The truth of the matter is, I would love to see this thing in print partly so I could start doing something else. Every other creative project I embark on has byucky ballast, as my manuscript kicks around in the back in my mind saying, "Hey! You! What am I still doing here?"
And that would be a good point to end on--don't write a book unless you want to have it constantly whining at you until it's happily published. I swear, they're worse than children.
2005-11-07
It walks!
.
So I seem to be alive again. At any rate, I am vertical and mobile, which is close enough.
And I return to learn that I am much more interesting to googlers than I have been in the past. Searchers have come looking for def poetry and cropdusting. I’m much more comfortable with this than with all the naked women searches of yore.
Also, someone from MIT accessed Tehachapiltdownman, which suggests I am smart. Take that, stupid people!
Today was the first day in many that I did not wake with bread pudding to be hocked from my sinuses which is wonderful. Now if my balloonheadedness will just pass I will be as healthy as … usual.
Which is not necessarily as healthy as people get. But it’s healthy enough for me.
For I am Theric, He of Mediocre Health.
Theric woke up. He was still tired.
He walked to the bathroom or the kitchen or wherever, running into immobile things like walls and moderately mobile things like pingpong balls as he went.
He took an overlong shower that dried his hair and skin and left the bathroom a sweaty sauna as he tried to dress.
Or: He ate something with out a full complement of vitamins and minerals or even calories.
Then Theric left for work, driving too fast and with too few of his faculties up to their alleged diurnal speed.
Theric arrived at work, where he carried, lopsided, loads of books and papers and cds and other exciting whatnot, his spine curving as he stumbled from room to room.
(And so on with equal excitement.)
-----end story-----
Anyway, what a pleasure to be back.
(this is me, dancing)
So I seem to be alive again. At any rate, I am vertical and mobile, which is close enough.
And I return to learn that I am much more interesting to googlers than I have been in the past. Searchers have come looking for def poetry and cropdusting. I’m much more comfortable with this than with all the naked women searches of yore.
Also, someone from MIT accessed Tehachapiltdownman, which suggests I am smart. Take that, stupid people!
Today was the first day in many that I did not wake with bread pudding to be hocked from my sinuses which is wonderful. Now if my balloonheadedness will just pass I will be as healthy as … usual.
Which is not necessarily as healthy as people get. But it’s healthy enough for me.
For I am Theric, He of Mediocre Health.
A Day in the Life of Theric, He of Mediocre Health
Theric woke up. He was still tired.
He walked to the bathroom or the kitchen or wherever, running into immobile things like walls and moderately mobile things like pingpong balls as he went.
He took an overlong shower that dried his hair and skin and left the bathroom a sweaty sauna as he tried to dress.
Or: He ate something with out a full complement of vitamins and minerals or even calories.
Then Theric left for work, driving too fast and with too few of his faculties up to their alleged diurnal speed.
Theric arrived at work, where he carried, lopsided, loads of books and papers and cds and other exciting whatnot, his spine curving as he stumbled from room to room.
(And so on with equal excitement.)
-----end story-----
Anyway, what a pleasure to be back.
(this is me, dancing)
2005-11-02
Nasal irrigation and more
.
Note: The first part of this post is educational and gross; the second part is cute and gross. If you do not like cute, be sure to skip the second half of this post.
I heard on NPR recently of nasal irrigation, a scientifically sound traditional cold treatment that involves squirting water up your nose.
According to the story, people use ear bulbs or squirting machines or simply snort a saline solution. At this point, snot and saline come poring from the nostrils and down the back of the throat. The effect is that, with the sinuses cleared, the immune system is freed to be all it can be; the cilia are reenergized, and voila! health!
Sounded lovely. So now that I am fighting a cold, the last two mornings I have taken eight ounces of warm water and a quarter teaspoon each of salt and baking soda. Unfortunately, I lack the apparatus to send a stream of saline up my nose so I have just been pouring my solution into a ramekin and breathing in.
Following by coughing and hacking and a distressing lack of streaming mucus.
Yesterday I was hocking up stuff the color of burnt caramel. And maybe I got it all out before salining myself. Anyway, streaming snot or not, I could breathe better on my way to work, that was sure. But today I could not get my left nostril to function no matter the snorting technique applied.
The saline solution does dry out my nostrils, so this morning I put in some Neosporin. In record time, every milliounce of Neosporin plopped down on the back of my tongue which was not, I am sorry to say, a pleasant end to the experiment.
--
The Big O (23 months less six days) is developing might muscles. I know this because he has taken to carting around a footstool with cast iron legs. He uses it to stand taller and see things. And do things. Like open and close the dvd player. And, new favorite, watch his parents cook.
For his first birthday, we celebrated in grand Korean fashion, including an activity that tells us his future.
On a table we placed certain symbolic objects—a pen (representing the life of a scholar), a knife (life of a chef), a rice cake (government lackey) and others. O picked the knife.
(A butter knife, perfectly safe. Not, for instance, a cleaver. In the first couple years of our marriage, Lady Steed always wanted a cleaver. For reasons she refused to specify. And that therefore made me nervous. I refused to help her get one. We still don’t have once. Not coincidentally, I am still intact.)
He is already living up to his chefly destiny with his new hobby of watching food preparation. Last night I was making French toast.
Eggs from my mother’s chickens. Some real vanilla. Some salt. I let O do some whisking. Then he dipped his finger and tasted the goods.
“Mmmm!”
Again.
“Mmmm!”
Lady Steed called then and I pushed the raw egg mix away from O to protect him from such things as salmonella. We chatted then I hung up the phone. I turned back, only to see the Big O tipping back the eggs and taking a good long draft.
“Mmmmm!”
Such are the epicurean delights of our household.
Note: The first part of this post is educational and gross; the second part is cute and gross. If you do not like cute, be sure to skip the second half of this post.
I heard on NPR recently of nasal irrigation, a scientifically sound traditional cold treatment that involves squirting water up your nose.
According to the story, people use ear bulbs or squirting machines or simply snort a saline solution. At this point, snot and saline come poring from the nostrils and down the back of the throat. The effect is that, with the sinuses cleared, the immune system is freed to be all it can be; the cilia are reenergized, and voila! health!
Sounded lovely. So now that I am fighting a cold, the last two mornings I have taken eight ounces of warm water and a quarter teaspoon each of salt and baking soda. Unfortunately, I lack the apparatus to send a stream of saline up my nose so I have just been pouring my solution into a ramekin and breathing in.
Following by coughing and hacking and a distressing lack of streaming mucus.
Yesterday I was hocking up stuff the color of burnt caramel. And maybe I got it all out before salining myself. Anyway, streaming snot or not, I could breathe better on my way to work, that was sure. But today I could not get my left nostril to function no matter the snorting technique applied.
The saline solution does dry out my nostrils, so this morning I put in some Neosporin. In record time, every milliounce of Neosporin plopped down on the back of my tongue which was not, I am sorry to say, a pleasant end to the experiment.
--
The Big O (23 months less six days) is developing might muscles. I know this because he has taken to carting around a footstool with cast iron legs. He uses it to stand taller and see things. And do things. Like open and close the dvd player. And, new favorite, watch his parents cook.
For his first birthday, we celebrated in grand Korean fashion, including an activity that tells us his future.
On a table we placed certain symbolic objects—a pen (representing the life of a scholar), a knife (life of a chef), a rice cake (government lackey) and others. O picked the knife.
(A butter knife, perfectly safe. Not, for instance, a cleaver. In the first couple years of our marriage, Lady Steed always wanted a cleaver. For reasons she refused to specify. And that therefore made me nervous. I refused to help her get one. We still don’t have once. Not coincidentally, I am still intact.)
He is already living up to his chefly destiny with his new hobby of watching food preparation. Last night I was making French toast.
Eggs from my mother’s chickens. Some real vanilla. Some salt. I let O do some whisking. Then he dipped his finger and tasted the goods.
“Mmmm!”
Again.
“Mmmm!”
Lady Steed called then and I pushed the raw egg mix away from O to protect him from such things as salmonella. We chatted then I hung up the phone. I turned back, only to see the Big O tipping back the eggs and taking a good long draft.
“Mmmmm!”
Such are the epicurean delights of our household.
2005-11-01
What it's like to lose a monkey
.
The first thing I felt, as you might imagine, is a sense of panic.
Monkey! My monkey! Where's my monkey!
It is a terrible feeling, but it fuels the frantic search that comes next. Ripping sheets from beds and spare tires from trunks and gophers from holes.
Then comes despair. A hollow-eyed, brain-numbing sense of loss, of finality. Despair is often accompanied by beating one's head against the pavement, ripping one's hair from one's head, and slamming one's fingers in a car door, repeatedly.
But as Vincent Price once said, you can only take so much horror before you get used to it. Then the numbness and despair pass.
And are replaced by a feeling of release.
Hey. I don't have to pick up after that filthy, lousy monkey any more.
And that is a beautiful feeling indeed.
The first thing I felt, as you might imagine, is a sense of panic.
Monkey! My monkey! Where's my monkey!
It is a terrible feeling, but it fuels the frantic search that comes next. Ripping sheets from beds and spare tires from trunks and gophers from holes.
Then comes despair. A hollow-eyed, brain-numbing sense of loss, of finality. Despair is often accompanied by beating one's head against the pavement, ripping one's hair from one's head, and slamming one's fingers in a car door, repeatedly.
But as Vincent Price once said, you can only take so much horror before you get used to it. Then the numbness and despair pass.
And are replaced by a feeling of release.
Hey. I don't have to pick up after that filthy, lousy monkey any more.
And that is a beautiful feeling indeed.
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