After some surgery, the cats are doing fine. Nothing too serious. But, one thing was Massimo had to get his butt shaved to clear out all the matted tangles in his fur. He looks like a poodle.
Diva is not a fan of having her picture taken. "Me iz not redy fr closeup!"
There will be pictures of a shaved cat, soon.
At the moment, however, I have to go attend to cats and cat-like affairs.
But, tomorrow, there will be shaved cat pictures, and everybody loves a shaved cat.
Two consenting adults decide they want to be the ones to define their lives, in a manner that causes absolutely no harm to any other living being on the planet, and to make their families in their own way and on their own terms.
However, because some folks' religions do not believe that what those consenting adults are trying to do is in accord with some holy books, some folks vote overwhelmingly to stop it. The people they just stopped are *not* members of the church. Thus the community has imposed a religious viewpoint upon another community with no unifying religion to speak of.
Thus, something that causes no harm to others is illegal. People are not permitted to create the defining terms of their own lives.
I'm not talking about gay marriage. I'm talking about children with silly haircuts.
In Mesquite, TX, it is illegal for children to have silly haircuts.
Adults should be allowed to define silliness for themselves.
Also silly, gay marriage's illegality.
The New Year is coming soon. Will this be the year where gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered couples are permitted to give their children silly haircuts in Mesquite, TX?
I've been plugging and chugging hard on a very difficult short story for me to write, and I think I got it and I think it will get sent out soon. However, the problem I had with writing it, and a difficult thing to write, is the moment when a character realizes something without any predicated stuff. The realization rises out of the subconscious, and changes the course of the plot.
Obviously, this sort of plot point is quite point is quite difficult.
I refer to them as "Araby" problems. In James Joyce's short story, "Araby" the main character has his climactic epiphany in the shop, holding the object that he intends to give to his young crush. He realizes, in a flash, that buying the object, and giving it to the girl will do nothing for his chances with the girl. He puts the object back and goes home.
It works in Joyce.
Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror is not a place where internal monologue is welcome. Inner looks upon the gears of the character's mind are not nearly as much fun as, for instance, betrayals in a multi-versal battle at the end of time.
Generally, it is better to write an action that is unexpected followed by a character reveling (or hating) the results.
Sometimes, stories come along that do not have that possibility, and you face an "araby" problem. Then, you have to find some way to sell the audience on a sudden and unexpected revelation.
One "Araby" problem is quite enough to make for a difficult story. This particular story I have been wrestling, alas, has more than one of those difficult moments.
We'll see how successful I am.
Remember when you were a kid, and you did good, and you got a big gold star on the bulletin board? That was awesome.
You know what the internet needs? A gigantic bulletin board, with everyone's name on it. Then, when you do something good, someone gives you a gold star. Shiny, and golden and happy and fun.
A big, giant bulletin board, with everyone's name on it. And gold stars.
I've wanted a Wii for a while. However, since I've also been wanting to be a writer of fictions, I avoided temptation to pick one up. For Christmas, my Mom picked up a Wii for herself.
Here's the genius behind Wii. My Mom can pick up the console because she wants to play Wii Bowling, and shoot at stuff with Link's Crossbow Training (...to her, she just wanted something to squeal when it dies. It didn't matter if it is a Skeleton-faced Monster, or a Deer, or Anything, as long as she gets to shoot something and hear it die. I totally agree with Mom on that one. Shooting targets is not as rewarding as shooting the hobgoblin thingums that keel over squealing.)
Wii is brilliant because it acquired the attention of a casual gamer, like my Mom, who never really wants to spend more than a few minutes at any one game.
Because of this, my Mom also picked up Force Unleashed, not a casual game, because she wants me to have something fun to play, too, when I'm over there. I am a dedicated gamer, who would blow all of his life playing video games if I had less self-control.
In short, Wii console designers are brilliant. By embracing more than just the hardcore gamers (I'm looking at you PS3), the company will expand it's marketshare and expand the number of hardcore games that sell, as well, since more households will have Wiis.
Brilliant.
Also, let me just say that Wiis are extremely fun. Bowling is fun. Boxing is fun. Link's Crossbow Training is fun.
The Force Unleashed is fun, too. It isn't the perfect lightsabre game, however, being able to actually, physically swing the Wii control increases my pleasure when slaughtering my enemies with my lightsaber.
I know you woke up early, jumping on your family members' beds to rush downstairs and shout "It's Christmas! Let's check J M McDermott's blog to unwrap what he has given us!"
I have, for your perusal, an interesting alien conspiracy I encountered somewhere on the web.
http://droneteam.com/history/
Merry Christmas! Peace on Earth! Goodwill towards all Living things, and ghosts.
I watched a lot of movies this year. Almost none of them were in theaters. Most of them were courtesy of the library. At the library, new and recent releases are often watched within an inch of their existance. And, to be perfectly honest, the words "Criterion Collection" really are synonymous with "You are about to see a brilliant movie that will blow you away!"
My favorites this year, watched this year though certainly not made recently, are as follows:
Merry Christmas Eve, everyone!
Right, so you know how when you see nifty, kitschy chess sets, like a Star Trek chess set where Kirk stares down the evil Klingon Empire, or Gandalf faces off against Mordor, or Autobots take on the Deceptacons?
(http://www.amazon.com/Hasbro-41088-Transformers-Chess-Set/dp/B000M5NIRU/ref=pd_bbs_sr_2?ie=UTF8&s=toys-and-games&qid=1229979149&sr=8-2)
Notice how all the "good" teams are white chess pieces, and the "bad" teams are all black chess pieces?
In chess, white is evil. White moves first. White is the aggressor.
Black is the defender. Black is the besieged. Black is the good.
This is what I want for Christmas more than I have ever wanted anything for Christmas.
I want this more than little girls want ponies.
http://gadgets.boingboing.net/2008/12/19/lego-castle-giants-c.html
Two things I love, put together BRILLIANTLY!
(I'll probably be staring at this chess set, drooling, for, like, hours.)
I vote that we add David Bowie songs - specifically, all of them - to the official list of Christmas Carols.
Come on, folks, tell me this tune doesn't kick Silent Night in the gonads.
Because it does.
Right. Here's a series of pictures, courtesy of my webcam, wherein I am making facial expressions to commingle with the story I am telling.
Please, illuminate the blog-o-sphere with your version of this story. Demarcate each new part of the story with the appropriate number.
1)
2)
3)
4)
5)
"With the boss gone, do you think we might call of this whole foolish, endless war, Mr. Dwarf?"
"Frankly," said Mr. Dwarf, "The only reason I never mulched you was because the boss was around, bailing you out at the last second. Prepare to die, orc scum!"
(Author's Note: I'm pre-dating a bunch of blog entries, because I'll be busy for a while, so don't expect me in the comments for at least a few days...)
[quote]
Whenever I don’t know the answers to something important, I create a mad lib, and visit my brother in his halfway house. My brother is extremely autistic. He didn’t learn to speak until he was eight. By the time he was nine, he played the viola better than I could do anything, ever.
In his special, autistic kid, school, they liked to encourage kids to think creatively, because autistic kids don’t think creatively very well. They used mad libs. My brother demonstrated an uncanny knack for choosing words that were perfectly suited for the missing place in the essay. What I mean is, if the blank space indicated the place where Abraham Lincoln was born, my brother would volunteer the correct city without any other prompting besides, “Give me a city.”
If anyone tried to give the “wrong” answers, my brother got angry and violent. He insisted on every blank space in the mad lib containing the “correct” word. No one could ever explain to him why choosing the correct word in the space was the wrong answer. No one could ever understand how he did it. They did a special feature about him on 60 Minutes, once. He wasn’t photogenic, I’m afraid. His skin is deadly pale. We keep his head and eyebrows shaved because he liked to pluck the hairs out one by one if we let anything grow in. He’s pudgy, and soft all over, and as pale as he is, he looks like a peeled potato. His trick didn’t come across as miraculous. It was kind of creepy, like listening to a Ouija board predict an afterlife of pain and despair. My brother’s eyes, always squinting in his pudgy face, and always looking away. He was only moderately capable of human speech, on a good day. He had to be reminded to speak up. He didn’t like repeating himself, and was quick to become violent. The correspondent tried to do a mad lib with him, but he cowered in the camera, and didn’t want to speak up after half the mad lib was completed.
He’s all grown up now, but he’s too much for my mother, and too much for me. He lives in a halfway house. My mother visits him, weekly. I don’t think he cares if I visit him or not. I don’t feel guilty for only visiting him when I want answers. [/quote]
Never could figure out a way to get the idea to turn into a story, alas. Mayhap I'll come back to it, later. Mayhap, not.
*cough* And, as of today, I am officially 29. I only get to be twenty-something for 364 more days. I can't help but shake the feeling I've mostly squandered my twenties. I wrote some stuff, true, and I traveled a lot. But, I wonder at all the nights I spent goal-less, channel surfing, working in dead-end jobs for people that would be perfectly indifferent if I didn't show up, or women that were only dating me out of curiosity, or hanging out with friends that cannot take the heat of my excessively passionate life.
Hm... You know, I wish I had spent more time reading this last year. Also, I wish I spent more time in Austin, Houston, or New York.
Anyway, Happy Birthday me. Wherever I am.
(I write this at my mother's house, at her kitchen table.)
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