And it did, by the way.
So, I normally drink a lot of water during the day. I bring a cup and fill it up over and over from our water filtration thingie (bottled water is SO 20th century). But, um, well, not today.
I forgot it.
I didn’t worry, though. I got some money from my car to buy a bottle, which I would then refill.
The machine was out of water.
Oh well. I’d get a 7-Up, which are now all natural… bullshit…
I put my money in. I pressed the button and out came…
… a root beer.
… I should have just gone home.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Fuck Flying…
There’s nothing I love more than flying. Seriously. And I’m not talking about flying in a plane – I mean outright flying. Hell, I jumped off a three-story building, I liked it so much!
And that’s why I decided to play City of Heroes.
But here’s the thing, by the time you get enough experience to fly you’re so sick of the game, you say, “Fuck flying!” and quit.
… which is what I did today. Fuck flying.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great idea for a game. It is. Superheroes! Fun! Excitement! Um… Fun! But you have so many load times and so many incidences (things gamers know far too well). And there’s so much interminable grinding! I thought World of Warcraft was bad but NO – NO NO NO NO NO! OH NO! Just to get 1000 of the 6000 (or so) points to level high enough to fly, I had to work the same area for night after night after soul-killing night – because they only let you play in one little area and it gets FUCKING BORING!!!
So, FUCK FLYING! I don’t care. I don’t even want to fly anymore!
Give me a sword or a hammer, leather armor or mail, and some damned dwarves and night elves and shit – I’m heading back to Azeroth and World of Warcraft!!!
And that’s why I decided to play City of Heroes.
But here’s the thing, by the time you get enough experience to fly you’re so sick of the game, you say, “Fuck flying!” and quit.
… which is what I did today. Fuck flying.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great idea for a game. It is. Superheroes! Fun! Excitement! Um… Fun! But you have so many load times and so many incidences (things gamers know far too well). And there’s so much interminable grinding! I thought World of Warcraft was bad but NO – NO NO NO NO NO! OH NO! Just to get 1000 of the 6000 (or so) points to level high enough to fly, I had to work the same area for night after night after soul-killing night – because they only let you play in one little area and it gets FUCKING BORING!!!
So, FUCK FLYING! I don’t care. I don’t even want to fly anymore!
Give me a sword or a hammer, leather armor or mail, and some damned dwarves and night elves and shit – I’m heading back to Azeroth and World of Warcraft!!!
And the writer writes…
Is it just me or is it really, bloody confusing?
I’m a writer!
I’m an actor!
I’m a writer!
I’m a fucking desert topping!!!
… well, I find it confusing…
Up until recently, my literary endeavors have been conveniently restricted to work hours, when I could get some work time freed up to do some writing. In order to get the work time freed up, I would work twice as hard as most other people, skipping breaks and lunches and my time writing would make up for that.
Well, things recently changed at work. Writing was no longer an option since my work time would have to be fully accounted for… dammit. So, no writing. But I decided that, if I wasn’t going to be allowed to write, I certainly wasn’t going to put in all that extra effort. I would work slow! Damned slow!
And, so I started, working at a pace that made snails feel superior. Dammit, I was slow!
… or so I thought. I was actually working at the same pace as everyone else. Imagine what an eye-opener that was!! Here I was, restraining myself lest my pace pick up, forcing myself to work slower, slower, slower… and it turned out that’s how most people regularly worked. Freakish!
This also meant I had to move my writing to home. I warned Vicky about how busy I’d be… and immediately auditioned for a play. There’s another audition today… and I might go…
But here’s the thing. I’ve reached the 80,000 word mark and am rapidly closing in on 90,000 words and completion. Not only that but I have an idea for my next book and – DAMMIT, WHEN’S A GUY SUPPOSED TO ACT???
Seriously, can someone just cut me in half?
I’m a writer!
I’m an actor!
I’m a writer!
I’m a fucking desert topping!!!
… well, I find it confusing…
Up until recently, my literary endeavors have been conveniently restricted to work hours, when I could get some work time freed up to do some writing. In order to get the work time freed up, I would work twice as hard as most other people, skipping breaks and lunches and my time writing would make up for that.
Well, things recently changed at work. Writing was no longer an option since my work time would have to be fully accounted for… dammit. So, no writing. But I decided that, if I wasn’t going to be allowed to write, I certainly wasn’t going to put in all that extra effort. I would work slow! Damned slow!
And, so I started, working at a pace that made snails feel superior. Dammit, I was slow!
… or so I thought. I was actually working at the same pace as everyone else. Imagine what an eye-opener that was!! Here I was, restraining myself lest my pace pick up, forcing myself to work slower, slower, slower… and it turned out that’s how most people regularly worked. Freakish!
This also meant I had to move my writing to home. I warned Vicky about how busy I’d be… and immediately auditioned for a play. There’s another audition today… and I might go…
But here’s the thing. I’ve reached the 80,000 word mark and am rapidly closing in on 90,000 words and completion. Not only that but I have an idea for my next book and – DAMMIT, WHEN’S A GUY SUPPOSED TO ACT???
Seriously, can someone just cut me in half?
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Threat...ha!
Actually, threatened is more appropriate. As you all know, Ken is usually the one on the soap box. Well, more and more, I've been finding myself with a foot up there too.
Everyone rants and raves about freedom these days. How the Iraqis are better off now that they have "freedom", how Israel should be "free" to defend itself from Lebanon, how are country should be "free" from illegal aliens...hell I could keep going, but I think you get the picture.
Thanks to Frank, one of the Triplets, on one of my fave radio programs for discussing this on their program.
Well this week, Shrub signed into law the Freedom to Display the American Flag Act of 2005. Okay, great, we can all display our country's flag, like that is a freedom that is largely denied...Ha!
Earlier this month, the Wisconsin legislature sent a letter signed by 52 assembly representatives and 9 state senators demanding the University of Wisconsin-Madison to fire Kevin Barrett. Professor Barrett has argued that our government is behind the terrorist attacks on our country. His intent to allow for open debate on this issue was met with a demand for his immediate dismissal or, as stated by Rep. Steve Nass "the leadership of the U.W. System operates at its own peril if it continues to ignore views of the taxpayers." Now where is our freedom?
The repugs are happy to give you your freedom, so long as it fits within their limitations. Step outside of that box, speak about an alternate theory, then WHAM! there goes your freedom.
We should all be feeling threatened...
Everyone rants and raves about freedom these days. How the Iraqis are better off now that they have "freedom", how Israel should be "free" to defend itself from Lebanon, how are country should be "free" from illegal aliens...hell I could keep going, but I think you get the picture.
Thanks to Frank, one of the Triplets, on one of my fave radio programs for discussing this on their program.
Well this week, Shrub signed into law the Freedom to Display the American Flag Act of 2005. Okay, great, we can all display our country's flag, like that is a freedom that is largely denied...Ha!
Earlier this month, the Wisconsin legislature sent a letter signed by 52 assembly representatives and 9 state senators demanding the University of Wisconsin-Madison to fire Kevin Barrett. Professor Barrett has argued that our government is behind the terrorist attacks on our country. His intent to allow for open debate on this issue was met with a demand for his immediate dismissal or, as stated by Rep. Steve Nass "the leadership of the U.W. System operates at its own peril if it continues to ignore views of the taxpayers." Now where is our freedom?
The repugs are happy to give you your freedom, so long as it fits within their limitations. Step outside of that box, speak about an alternate theory, then WHAM! there goes your freedom.
We should all be feeling threatened...
When striking out ain’t so bad…
So, no. I didn’t get the part.
But here’s why: the director told me that he didn’t think I looked like an embittered writer who’d lost his wife.
Old time readers should see the irony in that bad boy.
It’s actually something of a relief. Like a final affirmation. Ken, you’re not that guy any more. Congratulations.
I don’t mind. I’m working hard on finishing Love of Your Life (77 out of 90-ish thousand words) and, while that doesn’t quite have the “Dig Me” factor that acting provides, it’s good work. And, you never know, another audition could be only days away.
I’ll keep you posted.
Ps. By the way, Vicky has been threatening leaving a post. I just thought I’d warn those of you with weak hearts. (Love you, baby!)
But here’s why: the director told me that he didn’t think I looked like an embittered writer who’d lost his wife.
Old time readers should see the irony in that bad boy.
It’s actually something of a relief. Like a final affirmation. Ken, you’re not that guy any more. Congratulations.
I don’t mind. I’m working hard on finishing Love of Your Life (77 out of 90-ish thousand words) and, while that doesn’t quite have the “Dig Me” factor that acting provides, it’s good work. And, you never know, another audition could be only days away.
I’ll keep you posted.
Ps. By the way, Vicky has been threatening leaving a post. I just thought I’d warn those of you with weak hearts. (Love you, baby!)
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Auditioning for a staged reading…
It was weird. I hadn’t written this one. You see, most staged readings I’ve done I have also written, so…
But Stephanie emailed me and told me about the part. It was irresistible. A bitter writer who’d lost his wife… it sounded so familiar…
I haven’t been to an audition in quite a while. A lot of the reason why had to do with my immense girth… I mean my stomach… but there was something else. I was afraid. Too long had past. I was scared.
Which is exactly why I went. (And the fact that a staged reading provides more “fuck-up insurance” but we won’t go there.)
I wanted to look as thin as possible and finally found some clothes to wear that made me look… not entirely… Blubbery. It was all denim so I looked like an inmate – but I looked like a not quite so fat inmate, dammit!!!!
The beautiful thing about the theater is that it’s so close to our house. I could get there and get rejected in lightening speed.
I got the side (a side is a few pages of the script, which you read for the audition) and started reading. It started with a psychiatrist trying to opening up the lead character, Jeremy (the partI was auditioning for!). When she pesters him with “What’s on your mind” kinds of questions, he asks, “Why do you think they call it mayonnaise?” So, he’s a smart-ass. I could grok that.
Two people were reading beside me. (I didn’t have someone to team up with, dammit!) The person reading the shrink’s part kept stumbling over her words. The guy auditioning for Jeremy gave his angriest, Kirk Douglas kind of read. “Why do you think they call it MAYONNAISE?”
Either he’d be laughed to the street or he’d get the part.
I was called in first, so I didn’t get to see.
The director recognized me from my headshot – a good litmus test as to how recent your headshot is! As we went back, he gave typical director babble: “So glad you could make it. Hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Insert witty comment here.”
The theater was small…. teeeeeeny small! That was fine. Fewer people meant less embarrassment should I get the part. But it was really small. I was almost claustrophobic!
I met the producer, who was oblivious, and the playwright. Poor fella. I’ve been there. It ain’t pretty. Self important actors come in and mangle your work… and now, it was my turn.
As the director and producer talked (they love to do that), the writer asked, “Did you have any questions about the character or what he’s going through?”
I replied, “No, I’m pretty familiar with the situation. I lost my wife a few years back.”
The writer gasped. “I’m so sorry!”
Mind you, I didn’t mention that Rosa didn’t die but, hell, I’ll use it if it’ll score me points! I downplayed my mourning (snicker snicker), “It’s okay.”
And, then, we read.
But the stage bugged me. It was so small! Maybe I was just nervous because it had been so long but I could feel my heart beating. I stammered. My throat was dry.
When we were done, I knew I’d done a good job because the director gave me some direction. Usually, they’ll be happy to give losers the boot. He said, “That was excellent. Now, try to read it as though you were nervous. As though you were in an uncomfortable situation. As though you were afraid of screwing up.”
… Excuse me?
At first, I thought he was being sarcastic… Nope.
Anyway, I should get a call one way or the other tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be back on stage – albeit in just a lowly staged reading – next month…
But Stephanie emailed me and told me about the part. It was irresistible. A bitter writer who’d lost his wife… it sounded so familiar…
I haven’t been to an audition in quite a while. A lot of the reason why had to do with my immense girth… I mean my stomach… but there was something else. I was afraid. Too long had past. I was scared.
Which is exactly why I went. (And the fact that a staged reading provides more “fuck-up insurance” but we won’t go there.)
I wanted to look as thin as possible and finally found some clothes to wear that made me look… not entirely… Blubbery. It was all denim so I looked like an inmate – but I looked like a not quite so fat inmate, dammit!!!!
The beautiful thing about the theater is that it’s so close to our house. I could get there and get rejected in lightening speed.
I got the side (a side is a few pages of the script, which you read for the audition) and started reading. It started with a psychiatrist trying to opening up the lead character, Jeremy (the partI was auditioning for!). When she pesters him with “What’s on your mind” kinds of questions, he asks, “Why do you think they call it mayonnaise?” So, he’s a smart-ass. I could grok that.
Two people were reading beside me. (I didn’t have someone to team up with, dammit!) The person reading the shrink’s part kept stumbling over her words. The guy auditioning for Jeremy gave his angriest, Kirk Douglas kind of read. “Why do you think they call it MAYONNAISE?”
Either he’d be laughed to the street or he’d get the part.
I was called in first, so I didn’t get to see.
The director recognized me from my headshot – a good litmus test as to how recent your headshot is! As we went back, he gave typical director babble: “So glad you could make it. Hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Insert witty comment here.”
The theater was small…. teeeeeeny small! That was fine. Fewer people meant less embarrassment should I get the part. But it was really small. I was almost claustrophobic!
I met the producer, who was oblivious, and the playwright. Poor fella. I’ve been there. It ain’t pretty. Self important actors come in and mangle your work… and now, it was my turn.
As the director and producer talked (they love to do that), the writer asked, “Did you have any questions about the character or what he’s going through?”
I replied, “No, I’m pretty familiar with the situation. I lost my wife a few years back.”
The writer gasped. “I’m so sorry!”
Mind you, I didn’t mention that Rosa didn’t die but, hell, I’ll use it if it’ll score me points! I downplayed my mourning (snicker snicker), “It’s okay.”
And, then, we read.
But the stage bugged me. It was so small! Maybe I was just nervous because it had been so long but I could feel my heart beating. I stammered. My throat was dry.
When we were done, I knew I’d done a good job because the director gave me some direction. Usually, they’ll be happy to give losers the boot. He said, “That was excellent. Now, try to read it as though you were nervous. As though you were in an uncomfortable situation. As though you were afraid of screwing up.”
… Excuse me?
At first, I thought he was being sarcastic… Nope.
Anyway, I should get a call one way or the other tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be back on stage – albeit in just a lowly staged reading – next month…
Speaking in Tongues...
After Vicky read the last blog, she turned to me and said, "I can't believe you stuck your tongue out at a little girl."
I didn't see what the fuss was about.
... which incensed her. "You don't stick your tongue out at a little girl! Especially if it's not yours!"
And I still don't get it. It's not like a pulled out a gun... or some other appendage... I had a goofy moment with a kid so I did what kids to; I was relating on her level, if you will.
I knew the day would come when I just flat out did not understand our world but I never thought it would come so soon... or be about something so silly...
I didn't see what the fuss was about.
... which incensed her. "You don't stick your tongue out at a little girl! Especially if it's not yours!"
And I still don't get it. It's not like a pulled out a gun... or some other appendage... I had a goofy moment with a kid so I did what kids to; I was relating on her level, if you will.
I knew the day would come when I just flat out did not understand our world but I never thought it would come so soon... or be about something so silly...
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Fights…
Turns out this book I’m writing is a lot more about confrontation that I had originally suspected. The writing is very organic, not planned at all, and this is just one thing that’s taken me by surprise. So, with this in mind, I thought I’d write about fighting. I’ve been presented with fighting, both literal and figurative, and thought this might be a good time.
I was at Wienerschnitzel with Sean recently… I took a booth when a kid jumped in and then jumped out again, and I stuck my tongue out at her as if I was playing along. I can get a bit silly like that but the girl seemed to have fun, so… I thought nothing of it… for about a second… when her father stepped up, about an eighth of an inch away from me, and said, “Did you just stick your tongue out at my daughter?” This guy was about six feet tall, 250 pounds, which is coincidentally what I am… but, with him, it was all muscle.
I’m about to get beat up, I realized.
I’ve done a pretty good job not getting into any fights for a long, long time so, I figured, I was due. But I was shocked to hear my voice say, “Don’t worry, man. I was just kidding. It’s okay.”
That’s good… nice and patronizing…
“You don’t stick your tongue out at my daughter,” Brutus growled.
Again, the voice came, “We were just playing around. Nothing serious. It’s okay.” I was so damned reassuring. I knew that, any second now, my face would get very bruised.
You know what he did?
He walked away.
I thought, “How did that happen?”
“I thought he was going to kick your ass,” Sean’s hoarse voice told me.
“My too,” I agreed.
You just never know.
Now, don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t spoiling for a fight. In fact, I often think I should be more willing to fight. Not just to defend myself but to fight for things I believe in… or to fight for my friends, even when they’re the people I should fight.
Case in point: Tim Clostio.
Tim was the best man at my wedding. He’s one of my best friends in the world, a favorite for #1. Vicky and I have known for a while that Tim’s had a drinking problem. When I was going through the worst years of my life, drinking with Tim helped me get through. But I stopped needing to drink when I got over Rosa. Tim, on the other hand, never found a reason to stop.
Recently, we thought he was doing better. He changed jobs, reduced his stress, and he said he’d stopped drinking, with the exception of a couple drinks on the weekends.
This weekend, I found out he’s been lying. I drove down to his house to find out that his drinking is horribly out of control. And I just didn’t know what to do.
Mind you, I’ve tried talking to him over and over – but he refuses to recognize any problem. It’s an old story, but it’s a true one.
The part that makes me feel even more guilty is his relationship with Sean Roberson. Sean was the best man at my first wedding and he self-destructed on booze… now, it appears to be Tim’s turn.
And I just got so sick of it, I got in my car and left, angry at Tim for taking my friend away and replacing him with this pathetic lush.
It’s hard to know when it’s the right time to fight or what is the right reason. I’m not sure if, in either case, it would have done any good.
I was at Wienerschnitzel with Sean recently… I took a booth when a kid jumped in and then jumped out again, and I stuck my tongue out at her as if I was playing along. I can get a bit silly like that but the girl seemed to have fun, so… I thought nothing of it… for about a second… when her father stepped up, about an eighth of an inch away from me, and said, “Did you just stick your tongue out at my daughter?” This guy was about six feet tall, 250 pounds, which is coincidentally what I am… but, with him, it was all muscle.
I’m about to get beat up, I realized.
I’ve done a pretty good job not getting into any fights for a long, long time so, I figured, I was due. But I was shocked to hear my voice say, “Don’t worry, man. I was just kidding. It’s okay.”
That’s good… nice and patronizing…
“You don’t stick your tongue out at my daughter,” Brutus growled.
Again, the voice came, “We were just playing around. Nothing serious. It’s okay.” I was so damned reassuring. I knew that, any second now, my face would get very bruised.
You know what he did?
He walked away.
I thought, “How did that happen?”
“I thought he was going to kick your ass,” Sean’s hoarse voice told me.
“My too,” I agreed.
You just never know.
Now, don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t spoiling for a fight. In fact, I often think I should be more willing to fight. Not just to defend myself but to fight for things I believe in… or to fight for my friends, even when they’re the people I should fight.
Case in point: Tim Clostio.
Tim was the best man at my wedding. He’s one of my best friends in the world, a favorite for #1. Vicky and I have known for a while that Tim’s had a drinking problem. When I was going through the worst years of my life, drinking with Tim helped me get through. But I stopped needing to drink when I got over Rosa. Tim, on the other hand, never found a reason to stop.
Recently, we thought he was doing better. He changed jobs, reduced his stress, and he said he’d stopped drinking, with the exception of a couple drinks on the weekends.
This weekend, I found out he’s been lying. I drove down to his house to find out that his drinking is horribly out of control. And I just didn’t know what to do.
Mind you, I’ve tried talking to him over and over – but he refuses to recognize any problem. It’s an old story, but it’s a true one.
The part that makes me feel even more guilty is his relationship with Sean Roberson. Sean was the best man at my first wedding and he self-destructed on booze… now, it appears to be Tim’s turn.
And I just got so sick of it, I got in my car and left, angry at Tim for taking my friend away and replacing him with this pathetic lush.
It’s hard to know when it’s the right time to fight or what is the right reason. I’m not sure if, in either case, it would have done any good.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Hot Weather Recipe World...
Okay, so it's just way too hot to cook.
Gotcha! Heard that!
So, this week's recipe (see Jenn's site for hers), takes less cooking and is nice and cool for hot days. (It's also one I've never made - so I'm curious!)
ROASTED POTATO SALAD
2 pounds new potatoes, quartered (it's good to use a mix of different types of potatoes, for consistency)
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons of olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 egg
Juice of three lemons
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
1 tablespoon Creole Mustard
1/2 cup chopped green onions
1/2 pound bacon, chopped and browned until crispy
1 cup chopped red onions
4 hard_boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley leaves
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh dill
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. In a mixing bowl, toss the potatoes with 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season the potatoes with salt and pepper. Place the potatoes on a baking sheet and roast for 35 to 40 minutes. Remove the potatoes from the oven and cool completely.
Okay, the cooking part is done.
In a food processor, fitted with a metal blade, add the egg, juice from one lemon, mustard, garlic, and green onions. Puree until smooth (or somewhat smooth). Season the mixture with salt and pepper. With the machine running (the food processor, that is), slowly add the remaining olive oil until all of the oil is used and the mixture is thick. Reseason the mayonnaise with salt and pepper to taste. In a large mixing bowl, toss the potatoes with the bacon, red onions, sliced eggs, parsley and dill. Season the mixture with salt and pepper. Stir in the mayonnaise and the remaining lemon juice. Mix thoroughly.
Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
Enjoy!
And if this heat keeps up, I'm going to be looking for ice cream recipes!
Gotcha! Heard that!
So, this week's recipe (see Jenn's site for hers), takes less cooking and is nice and cool for hot days. (It's also one I've never made - so I'm curious!)
ROASTED POTATO SALAD
2 pounds new potatoes, quartered (it's good to use a mix of different types of potatoes, for consistency)
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons of olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 egg
Juice of three lemons
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
1 tablespoon Creole Mustard
1/2 cup chopped green onions
1/2 pound bacon, chopped and browned until crispy
1 cup chopped red onions
4 hard_boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley leaves
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh dill
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. In a mixing bowl, toss the potatoes with 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season the potatoes with salt and pepper. Place the potatoes on a baking sheet and roast for 35 to 40 minutes. Remove the potatoes from the oven and cool completely.
Okay, the cooking part is done.
In a food processor, fitted with a metal blade, add the egg, juice from one lemon, mustard, garlic, and green onions. Puree until smooth (or somewhat smooth). Season the mixture with salt and pepper. With the machine running (the food processor, that is), slowly add the remaining olive oil until all of the oil is used and the mixture is thick. Reseason the mayonnaise with salt and pepper to taste. In a large mixing bowl, toss the potatoes with the bacon, red onions, sliced eggs, parsley and dill. Season the mixture with salt and pepper. Stir in the mayonnaise and the remaining lemon juice. Mix thoroughly.
Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
Enjoy!
And if this heat keeps up, I'm going to be looking for ice cream recipes!
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Days of Wine and Blogging…
So, here’s that Pinot I was telling you about. Actually, the one we had (and promptly purchased more of) was the 2004. Wine.com gave it 4.5/5… not bad. It was a light pinot, not overly complex. Enjoy.
… Oh, there’s something else.
Looks like I won’t be blogging as much as I used to. My work environment is cracking down – hardassifying… so, no blogging from work. Dammit. That’s when I have most of my free time! But, not to fear, I’ll be around and, maybe, sometime soon, thing will change.
Meanwhile, I’ll be heading to dinner with some of my family tonight. Vicky’s studying mercilessly for this CLA exam, which is coming up in less than 24 hours… lucky girl.
… Oh, there’s something else.
Looks like I won’t be blogging as much as I used to. My work environment is cracking down – hardassifying… so, no blogging from work. Dammit. That’s when I have most of my free time! But, not to fear, I’ll be around and, maybe, sometime soon, thing will change.
Meanwhile, I’ll be heading to dinner with some of my family tonight. Vicky’s studying mercilessly for this CLA exam, which is coming up in less than 24 hours… lucky girl.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
And making an ass of myself on the phone...
Just so you know, this blog follows a rather long and grovely apology.
Before we start, I just want to chuck the boomerang of time back a little bit... there it goes... back to... 1996...
Rosa and were standing outside of a restaurant near the corner of Katella and Tustin, where we were waiting to meet Essex and Lily for dinner. We weren't quite at the pacing point, yet, but we were getting close. And I distinctly remember saying, "You know, if we had a cell phone, we could just call them and tell them to get the fuck over here."
And here comes the boomerang... curving back to the present... 2003...
I was trying to get back together with Rosa and she thought it would be nice if we each had cell phones. So, she gave me her old one and got a new one... but I never got service on the thing... didn't really want to carry it around... lost it...
The boomerang is almost back... 2004...
Shortly after Vicky and I met, she too gave me her old cell phone and got a new one... the idea of having to carry around one of these things... ugh... but Vicky paid for the service and we talked and talked... we talked so much that I eventually became one of those people who talks while they drive, while they shop, and while they eat. I haven't become one of those people who talks while they're pooping... NOR WILL I EVER! But, I used to be one of those people who complained about cell phones! They were annoying! A blight! A pain in the ass to those of us trying to get somewhere quickly! Why is it that people get on their cell and take their foot off their gas???...
And (fwack!) the boomerang has returned... this morning...
I went to work this morning with my cell phone in my pants pocket because I'm wearing a shirt with no pockets. I thought nothing of it and began to drive to work. But then, as I was taking a curve up a hill... the phone began to ring. It was Vicky's personal ring. I tried to ignore it, paying attention to my driving, but it kept ringing and I began to think, "Maybe the dog got out... maybe she was in a car accident... maybe the house is on fire... maybe the -" Oh shit! I had to answer the phone!
I tried to reach under my seat belt but couldn't find my pocket. I had to take off my seat belt! But my pocket went too low - I had to lift my hip, taking my foot off the gas, to get to it, which also meant my hand was off the wheel!
Nothing to see here, folks! Just some idiot, doing 60, who's decided he doesn't want to live anymore!
Of course, the whole contortion put me in a rotten mood... after all, I nearly hit a truck and the guy behind me was honking... but it was necessary to make sure everything was okay with my bride.
... and this is where I made an ass of myself. Not before. Right now.
I answered with, "I hope this is important."
Okay, now she didn't know about how her call nearly killed me, right? And she's told me, in the past, not to answer if I'm driving. My response is, "What if it's an emergency?" Based on this, she agreed to call less while I'm driving.
I guess she forgot.
Maybe I'm just not the kind of person who can have a cell phone... maybe it's a guy thing. I don't know. No man would call and, when asked why, say, "No reason." It just doesn't happen! Maybe a woman can explain this to me, why women are so lacking in focus... I don't know.
Anyway, so I'm the jerk. If you hear about me dying in a car accident, at least you'll know why.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
The mind reels...
It just shocks the hell out of me that doctors and nurses are being put on trial for allegedly euthanizing some patients in the wake of Katrina, while Shrub is let off scott free after letting so many victims of Katrina die - without lifting a finger!
Maybe, just maybe the doctors and nurses were wrong - but what about the guy in charge who went to a party and posed for a photo op while so many Americans were dying.
It's disgraceful.
Maybe, just maybe the doctors and nurses were wrong - but what about the guy in charge who went to a party and posed for a photo op while so many Americans were dying.
It's disgraceful.
The man... the meat... the recipe...
I got home earlier than Vicky last night. That won't be too hard to do, considering that she'll be studying for her CLA exam all week. Then, FREEDOM! She'll return to the real world filled with dishes and movies and... cooking...
So, I cooked last night. I dipped into Jenn's recipe for "Meat in Glue That You JUST CAN'T STOP EATING"! I had bought all the ingredients the night before - and, I'll warn you here, they can get a bit pricey. This is especially true if you're buying organic... which you really should... bitch.
Now, I have this system I follow when I cook one of Jenn's recipes. That is: I never write them down. So, I am perpetually running from one room to another, finding out what I need for the next step before this step burns. If good cooking is a glorious accident, I am uninsurable.
I laid out all of my ingredients and, in a flush of sudden inspiration, opened a bottle of pinot noir (from a Central California winery whose website I cannot find... dammit) that paired perfectly in the end.
And, so, on to the recipe:
Carbonnade a la Flamande
3/4 C All purpose flour
1/2 tsp Salt
1/2 tsp Black Pepper
1/8 tsp Nutmeg
2.5 lbs boneless chuck roast, trimmed, and cut into 1/2 inch cubes
2 Strips bacon, diced
2 C Chopped onion
1 T chopped garlic (I use two large cloves)
1 C Less sodium Beef Stock or broth (14.5 oz)
1 C Water
2 T Brown Sugar
2 T Red Wine vinegar
2 T Tomato paste
2 T Dijon mustard (don't use yellow mustard on this)
1 tsp Fresh Thyme
2 Bay leaves
1 (12oz) can Dark beer
2 T Chopped Fresh parsley
I tend to like to ready all of the ingredients before I start. So, I chopped the onion, which is usually Vicky's job but... oh well, so I cried for a while. I cut up the meat, opened the can, pulled out the seasonings... I was ready!
The first step, combining the flour, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and steak in a large zip lock bag - Seal, shake to coat - is not a time to press all the air out of the bag. I did... and realized my mistake very quickly. You ever trying to blow up a zip lock bag? I have! But, after the air's in there, it's just fun time. Toss the bag around to your little heart's desire. I found that if you put in just the right amount of flour, salt, pepper, and nutmeg, you'll just coat the steak, which is probably what you want.
I knew everything was going south shortly after heating up a large dutch oven over medium-high heat. I added the bacon to the pan, cooked it for one minute... and it wouldn't brown. The bacon wouldn't brown. I'd never seen that before: bacon that refused to cook. I think a good rule in cooking is "Whenever you see the impossible happen... stop." I didn't.
I added the beef mixture, cooking it for three minutes or until browned... you see what's coming, right? It refused to brown. In fact, it wasn't even cooking. I checked the heat. Yep, it was hot... but stubborn. Ten minutes later... nothing. Uncooked meat... oh wait! All of the flour had coated the bottom of the pan, making it impossible to wilt the onions in the next step.
So, I removed the beef from the pan and resigned myself to a horrible muck... poor Vicky. She'd have to eat it.
I added the onion (a large, red one) and garlic (one tablespoon, my ass!) to the pan and let it saute for five minutes... nothing... five more minutes... nothing. I resigned myself to uncooked food. The heat couldn't get through that lining of flour...
Fuck it. I put the beef back in the pan and stirred in the broth. Immediately, something happened! The solidified roux began coming off the bottom - heat broke through! I threw in the water, brown sugar, tomato paste, dijon mustard, fresh thyme, bay leaves and dark beer (Guinness, of course) all at once and brought it to a boil.
Vicky came in. "That smells really good," she said. So, I decided to let her live in her fantasy. Reducing the heat, I cooked it for a half hour with the cover on and a half hour with the cover off... by which time, we were both starving.
I nixed the parsley but did make egg noodles, as Jenn suggested.
Now, here's the thing. When I cooked it, this came out looking like meat in a dark glue - but that's a good thing! The sauce is rich and thick - a heart attack inducing heaven! And the ingredients, while strange when you first look at them, come together with an addicting palatability.
"So... you like my meat?" I asked.
Vicky agreed. She loved my meat.
"Would you like more of my meat?"
She had more of my meat.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is this recipe is pretty hard to mess up - even when you're me!
(Actually, the whole point of this blog entry was just so I could write how much Vicky loved my meat...)
So, I cooked last night. I dipped into Jenn's recipe for "Meat in Glue That You JUST CAN'T STOP EATING"! I had bought all the ingredients the night before - and, I'll warn you here, they can get a bit pricey. This is especially true if you're buying organic... which you really should... bitch.
Now, I have this system I follow when I cook one of Jenn's recipes. That is: I never write them down. So, I am perpetually running from one room to another, finding out what I need for the next step before this step burns. If good cooking is a glorious accident, I am uninsurable.
I laid out all of my ingredients and, in a flush of sudden inspiration, opened a bottle of pinot noir (from a Central California winery whose website I cannot find... dammit) that paired perfectly in the end.
And, so, on to the recipe:
Carbonnade a la Flamande
3/4 C All purpose flour
1/2 tsp Salt
1/2 tsp Black Pepper
1/8 tsp Nutmeg
2.5 lbs boneless chuck roast, trimmed, and cut into 1/2 inch cubes
2 Strips bacon, diced
2 C Chopped onion
1 T chopped garlic (I use two large cloves)
1 C Less sodium Beef Stock or broth (14.5 oz)
1 C Water
2 T Brown Sugar
2 T Red Wine vinegar
2 T Tomato paste
2 T Dijon mustard (don't use yellow mustard on this)
1 tsp Fresh Thyme
2 Bay leaves
1 (12oz) can Dark beer
2 T Chopped Fresh parsley
I tend to like to ready all of the ingredients before I start. So, I chopped the onion, which is usually Vicky's job but... oh well, so I cried for a while. I cut up the meat, opened the can, pulled out the seasonings... I was ready!
The first step, combining the flour, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and steak in a large zip lock bag - Seal, shake to coat - is not a time to press all the air out of the bag. I did... and realized my mistake very quickly. You ever trying to blow up a zip lock bag? I have! But, after the air's in there, it's just fun time. Toss the bag around to your little heart's desire. I found that if you put in just the right amount of flour, salt, pepper, and nutmeg, you'll just coat the steak, which is probably what you want.
I knew everything was going south shortly after heating up a large dutch oven over medium-high heat. I added the bacon to the pan, cooked it for one minute... and it wouldn't brown. The bacon wouldn't brown. I'd never seen that before: bacon that refused to cook. I think a good rule in cooking is "Whenever you see the impossible happen... stop." I didn't.
I added the beef mixture, cooking it for three minutes or until browned... you see what's coming, right? It refused to brown. In fact, it wasn't even cooking. I checked the heat. Yep, it was hot... but stubborn. Ten minutes later... nothing. Uncooked meat... oh wait! All of the flour had coated the bottom of the pan, making it impossible to wilt the onions in the next step.
So, I removed the beef from the pan and resigned myself to a horrible muck... poor Vicky. She'd have to eat it.
I added the onion (a large, red one) and garlic (one tablespoon, my ass!) to the pan and let it saute for five minutes... nothing... five more minutes... nothing. I resigned myself to uncooked food. The heat couldn't get through that lining of flour...
Fuck it. I put the beef back in the pan and stirred in the broth. Immediately, something happened! The solidified roux began coming off the bottom - heat broke through! I threw in the water, brown sugar, tomato paste, dijon mustard, fresh thyme, bay leaves and dark beer (Guinness, of course) all at once and brought it to a boil.
Vicky came in. "That smells really good," she said. So, I decided to let her live in her fantasy. Reducing the heat, I cooked it for a half hour with the cover on and a half hour with the cover off... by which time, we were both starving.
I nixed the parsley but did make egg noodles, as Jenn suggested.
Now, here's the thing. When I cooked it, this came out looking like meat in a dark glue - but that's a good thing! The sauce is rich and thick - a heart attack inducing heaven! And the ingredients, while strange when you first look at them, come together with an addicting palatability.
"So... you like my meat?" I asked.
Vicky agreed. She loved my meat.
"Would you like more of my meat?"
She had more of my meat.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is this recipe is pretty hard to mess up - even when you're me!
(Actually, the whole point of this blog entry was just so I could write how much Vicky loved my meat...)
Monday, July 17, 2006
Ethics and other kinds of thics...
I know this feeling. Several months before I began writing With Eyes to See, a horror novel about multi-dimensional physics, I bugged Vicky for a whole weekend with brainstorms on dimensional perspectives. It's like my brain starts working on things long before I need them.
Of course, there is the flip side. I have a notebook filled with conjectural analysis on a variety of Christian myths... yet have done nothing with it.
That said, you never know. Either way, it's bugging me.
What is?
It's this thought that has been poking at the side of my head.
Here's how it began: Many serial murderers and scriptwriters have claimed that murder is justifiable based on the fact that nations in the last century have become so adept at mass-murder. As the same time, however, is it justifiable to prop yourself up just because you never murdered anyone? (... providing you haven't...)
That wasn't quite it. Anyway, murder is no longer a crime. The conditions under which murder can be committed have just been redefined. You can murder Iraqis if you're over there. You can murder criminals if you get that job. You can murder your spouse if you're rich enough. Exceptions! Exceptions! Exceptions!
Anyway, that wasn't it.
In fact, I don't even know if I've gotten to "it". But I have gotten closer.
If you go broke and can't pay your bills, it would be impossible for you to engage in "deficit spending". Yet, that's what our government (praise be to the Republicans who are not "tax and spend" politicians... they just spend) does every day. On the other hand, if I boast about how my brother has fallen under hard times and how I can support myself just fine - in fact, I just bought a boat! - that's wrong, somehow.
I don't know what this means but I think it's about Empathy, about Perspective. I think it deals with a collapse of the connection we have with each other. We allow out government to commit horrible crimes in our name, things most of us would never imagine doing. Can we consider ourselves "ethical" while supporting a government ignorant of ethics?
I don't know.
I've been dying to get back to writing some dick-and-fart joke comedy... but I think my brain has something else in mind... dammit. We'll see.
Of course, there is the flip side. I have a notebook filled with conjectural analysis on a variety of Christian myths... yet have done nothing with it.
That said, you never know. Either way, it's bugging me.
What is?
It's this thought that has been poking at the side of my head.
Here's how it began: Many serial murderers and scriptwriters have claimed that murder is justifiable based on the fact that nations in the last century have become so adept at mass-murder. As the same time, however, is it justifiable to prop yourself up just because you never murdered anyone? (... providing you haven't...)
That wasn't quite it. Anyway, murder is no longer a crime. The conditions under which murder can be committed have just been redefined. You can murder Iraqis if you're over there. You can murder criminals if you get that job. You can murder your spouse if you're rich enough. Exceptions! Exceptions! Exceptions!
Anyway, that wasn't it.
In fact, I don't even know if I've gotten to "it". But I have gotten closer.
If you go broke and can't pay your bills, it would be impossible for you to engage in "deficit spending". Yet, that's what our government (praise be to the Republicans who are not "tax and spend" politicians... they just spend) does every day. On the other hand, if I boast about how my brother has fallen under hard times and how I can support myself just fine - in fact, I just bought a boat! - that's wrong, somehow.
I don't know what this means but I think it's about Empathy, about Perspective. I think it deals with a collapse of the connection we have with each other. We allow out government to commit horrible crimes in our name, things most of us would never imagine doing. Can we consider ourselves "ethical" while supporting a government ignorant of ethics?
I don't know.
I've been dying to get back to writing some dick-and-fart joke comedy... but I think my brain has something else in mind... dammit. We'll see.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
So, what if we legalized ALL drugs...
I was just reading around the Internets and saw something behind a series of articles on drugs. It started with Barry Bonds, who may be facing indictment. I thought it was for steriod usage but it's actually for tax evasion. (If he gets off as easily as Capone, he'll only have syphillis.)
But it got me thinking about steriod use. So what, if they use steriods! Did it improve their performance? Fine. I could care less if all professional sports teams became filled with drug-addled horses. I could give a shit. Who does it hurt? The players? Yeah, well, so does can their diet but we don't make Ben & Jerry's illegal... thank god.
And that got me thinking about other kinds of drugs.
And this is what I'd like to suggest. (Not that it will be worth piss.) Legalize all drugs. All of them. Heroin, crack, acid - everything. The act of ingesting a drug should not be a crime in and off itself.
Now, if that person kills someone - that's a crime. If they rob - that's a crime. A crime is the violation of someone ELSE'S rights - and not their right to decide what YOU do. So, if someone commits a crime while on drugs, then charge them for the crime. Fine.
And, I can hear it already - Using drugs lead you to committing crime. Oh really? Funny. I see plenty of people who aren't stoned committing crimes all the time. Remember Kenny Lay? Tom Delay? George Bush?
... oh, wait. That could explain everything...
But it got me thinking about steriod use. So what, if they use steriods! Did it improve their performance? Fine. I could care less if all professional sports teams became filled with drug-addled horses. I could give a shit. Who does it hurt? The players? Yeah, well, so does can their diet but we don't make Ben & Jerry's illegal... thank god.
And that got me thinking about other kinds of drugs.
And this is what I'd like to suggest. (Not that it will be worth piss.) Legalize all drugs. All of them. Heroin, crack, acid - everything. The act of ingesting a drug should not be a crime in and off itself.
Now, if that person kills someone - that's a crime. If they rob - that's a crime. A crime is the violation of someone ELSE'S rights - and not their right to decide what YOU do. So, if someone commits a crime while on drugs, then charge them for the crime. Fine.
And, I can hear it already - Using drugs lead you to committing crime. Oh really? Funny. I see plenty of people who aren't stoned committing crimes all the time. Remember Kenny Lay? Tom Delay? George Bush?
... oh, wait. That could explain everything...
Friday, July 14, 2006
City of Heroes... Garage of Nerds...
Okay, so I recently switched (temporarily!) from World of Warcraft to City of Heroes. I thought I'd let you know how things were going.
Playing from the deep recesses of my garage, the first thing I did was create a character named after Phil Hartman and my wife. His name is Vicqui. He's manly, purple, and named after a girl... a lot like John Wayne.
In the beginning, I was lucky to stop a purse-snatcher. Then, I moved up to muggers, car thieves, and even gangs! It wasn't easy. The bad guys in CoH aren't dumb. If they have a gun, they'll run away and shoot at you from a safe distance. If they have a knife, they'll follow you while you run away.
When Vicqui started, he was already pretty tough. He could jump over cars. Come on! How many of you can do that? But I wanted more. I really wanted to fly!
... but that ability is not available until level 14...
... and I just got to level 9...
... it's going to take a while.
On the up side, I actually jumped from rooftop to rooftop last night, a lot like the Tick! (He, of course, is more purple, more manly, and... not named after a girl.)
I always entered an area called The Hollows. The thing about CoH is there are load times between zones, something you never have to deal with in WoW! Anyway, The Hollows is a pretty tough area. There was a big, BIG fight there once and the landscape is broken into cliffs and chasms. Once horizontal streets need to be climbed vertically! It's pretty cool. Vicqui, of course, got killed pretty quickly but he's getting tougher!
In a few levels, he'll be flying across that landscape. You just wait.
Let's hope I can do all that in two months. That's when my account runs dry...
Playing from the deep recesses of my garage, the first thing I did was create a character named after Phil Hartman and my wife. His name is Vicqui. He's manly, purple, and named after a girl... a lot like John Wayne.
In the beginning, I was lucky to stop a purse-snatcher. Then, I moved up to muggers, car thieves, and even gangs! It wasn't easy. The bad guys in CoH aren't dumb. If they have a gun, they'll run away and shoot at you from a safe distance. If they have a knife, they'll follow you while you run away.
When Vicqui started, he was already pretty tough. He could jump over cars. Come on! How many of you can do that? But I wanted more. I really wanted to fly!
... but that ability is not available until level 14...
... and I just got to level 9...
... it's going to take a while.
On the up side, I actually jumped from rooftop to rooftop last night, a lot like the Tick! (He, of course, is more purple, more manly, and... not named after a girl.)
I always entered an area called The Hollows. The thing about CoH is there are load times between zones, something you never have to deal with in WoW! Anyway, The Hollows is a pretty tough area. There was a big, BIG fight there once and the landscape is broken into cliffs and chasms. Once horizontal streets need to be climbed vertically! It's pretty cool. Vicqui, of course, got killed pretty quickly but he's getting tougher!
In a few levels, he'll be flying across that landscape. You just wait.
Let's hope I can do all that in two months. That's when my account runs dry...
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Sent your Tivo, DVR, or whatever
I know that we will...Global Warming. There are also some really good links for science articles regarding the crisis.
I'm off to study now...
I'm off to study now...
I read the news today... oh boy...
This started as a result of listening to Ed Schultz during lunch. He kept talking about the middle east as if... is something happening over there?
Of course, there is.
And it's been happening for decades.
As Vicky so astutely pointed out, any war in the middle east is bound to have the born-against smiling, waiting for their rapturous... what do they call that again? Of course, I had to point out that anyone jubilant over the deaths of thousands of people... may be stopped on their way to heaven for some serious cross-examination.
"I didn't kill anyone but I loved it when other people did!"
Yeah... they may have to wait.
So, what has been happening?
As you know, we (known the world over as US) invaded a sovereign nation because, well, the fall line-up on the major networks just weren't too exciting that year or something - and we've been doing a great job of a) killing lots of innocent people, b) creating lots of hate for US and lots of terrorists, and c) misspending just a FUCKLOAD of money. Would any of this make anyone hate US? I'm stumped.
But it appears they do. It might also have something to do with our anal obsession with backing Israel. Now, listen, I have nothing against Israel... you know, as a concept. But they're like the kid on My Bodyguard - you know, the one who can act like a bully because he has an even bigger bully to back him up. We (US) are the bigger bully.
So, Israel goes around killing people and bombing people... and I'm just saying they probably wouldn't be so quick to do it if US weren't here, backing them up every step of the way.
I mean, hell, when Israel started flexing their militaristic imperative this time, bombing the shit out of Palestine and Lebanon - and getting just a pee stream away from Syria. The UN wanted to sanction them. We (US) vetoed it. Why? Because Israel was just defending themselves because one of its soldiers was taken prisoners.
Let's see. On one hand, one guy gets taken prisoner. On the other, a whole lot of people get bombed to shit. Sounds fair.
And, mind you, this is just THIS TIME.
Of course, we (US) can't do too much because we have long lost the moral high-ground. (Committing acts of aggressive war, breaking the Geneva Convention, and crimes against humanity tend to do that.)
So, the whole place is one, big, shitfest. It's like the apartment of your average 20-year old after payday... but with bombs.
Meanwhile, back home, the House is still debating if black people should still be allowed to vote.
Check, please!
Of course, there is.
And it's been happening for decades.
As Vicky so astutely pointed out, any war in the middle east is bound to have the born-against smiling, waiting for their rapturous... what do they call that again? Of course, I had to point out that anyone jubilant over the deaths of thousands of people... may be stopped on their way to heaven for some serious cross-examination.
"I didn't kill anyone but I loved it when other people did!"
Yeah... they may have to wait.
So, what has been happening?
As you know, we (known the world over as US) invaded a sovereign nation because, well, the fall line-up on the major networks just weren't too exciting that year or something - and we've been doing a great job of a) killing lots of innocent people, b) creating lots of hate for US and lots of terrorists, and c) misspending just a FUCKLOAD of money. Would any of this make anyone hate US? I'm stumped.
But it appears they do. It might also have something to do with our anal obsession with backing Israel. Now, listen, I have nothing against Israel... you know, as a concept. But they're like the kid on My Bodyguard - you know, the one who can act like a bully because he has an even bigger bully to back him up. We (US) are the bigger bully.
So, Israel goes around killing people and bombing people... and I'm just saying they probably wouldn't be so quick to do it if US weren't here, backing them up every step of the way.
I mean, hell, when Israel started flexing their militaristic imperative this time, bombing the shit out of Palestine and Lebanon - and getting just a pee stream away from Syria. The UN wanted to sanction them. We (US) vetoed it. Why? Because Israel was just defending themselves because one of its soldiers was taken prisoners.
Let's see. On one hand, one guy gets taken prisoner. On the other, a whole lot of people get bombed to shit. Sounds fair.
And, mind you, this is just THIS TIME.
Of course, we (US) can't do too much because we have long lost the moral high-ground. (Committing acts of aggressive war, breaking the Geneva Convention, and crimes against humanity tend to do that.)
So, the whole place is one, big, shitfest. It's like the apartment of your average 20-year old after payday... but with bombs.
Meanwhile, back home, the House is still debating if black people should still be allowed to vote.
Check, please!
Dreams of "me"...
So, I had this dream last night...
My son says to me, "(Someone) and me are going out."
"(Someone) and I," I reply.
"Huh?"
"It's (someone) and I," I tell him.
"Why not (someone) and me?"
I explain to him, "Whenever you're in doubt, just remove the part before I or Me. 'Me are going out' sounds stupid. The goal with grammar is to not sound stupid. Sounding stupid is a bad thing. It makes you appear stupid. In fact, it makes you stupid be default."
Which is when I woke up, thinking, "So don't be such a fucking retard, kid."
Yep, leave it to me to mix dreams of parenthood with a diatribe on grammar...
My son says to me, "(Someone) and me are going out."
"(Someone) and I," I reply.
"Huh?"
"It's (someone) and I," I tell him.
"Why not (someone) and me?"
I explain to him, "Whenever you're in doubt, just remove the part before I or Me. 'Me are going out' sounds stupid. The goal with grammar is to not sound stupid. Sounding stupid is a bad thing. It makes you appear stupid. In fact, it makes you stupid be default."
Which is when I woke up, thinking, "So don't be such a fucking retard, kid."
Yep, leave it to me to mix dreams of parenthood with a diatribe on grammar...
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