PunkKittyDiddy

Bad Blogger. Bad.

I keep falling off the blogging bandwagon.  Which doesn't halt the world's spinning on its axis or anything, I realize.  (Um, what an awesome ego stroke it would be if that were the case.  Except for the fact that we'd all likely die.) 

Anyway, I will try to be more consistent with the blogging, since it's good practice for....being more consistent.

In my defense, I've been busy with the usual.  The freelance writing. The mom-ing.  And I've launched a new venture, hawking my wares on Etsy!  A few random items are featured to the right, or just follow this link. 

That's been super fun.

More.  Soon.  (I swear.)

 

Latest Sci Fi Tracker on Fancast.

Read last week's blurbage at Fancast.

92 Degrees. Feels Like: What That Guy Nietzsche Said, About The Abyss Gazing Back Into You.....

I realize that trolling for writing jobs on assorted internet help wanted sites is a somewhat passive approach to career management.  On the one hand, I've landed some truly cool gigs this way, but the tiny part of my brain that has been placed in charge of "Career Development" (it's the itty bitty, microscopic segment nearly entirely obscured by the much bigger piece of gray matter designated with the task of, "Coming Up With Five Hundred Ways To Say Rhapsodic Things About Chocolate") knows that to really and truly set the world on fire, you have to be assertive and GO AFTER the big opportunities, rather than wait for them to come to you.

So that's what I'm gonna do, damn it! 

To start with:  I want the job writing the "feels like" blurbs for the temperature readings at Weather.com.  You know.  Like today's entry:  87 degrees.  Feels like:  87 degrees.

Far be it from me to cast aspersions at a fellow writer (OK, maybe a few teensy aspersions.....), but I could write circles around the schmuck whose work I just cited above! "87 degrees.  Feels like:  87 degrees?"  Seriously, dude?

To the editors at Weather.com, I would like to present a small glimpse into my unfettered creative prowess:

• 100 degrees.  Feels like:  raw magma, wrapped inside hellfire, wrapped inside some tinfoil and left on the smoldering asphalt in Yuma, Arizona.
• 110 degrees:  Feels like: the apocalypse! Wrapped inside some tinfoil and left on the smoldering asphalt in Yuma, Arizona.
• 30 degrees.  Feels like: Siberian winter, wrapped inside dry ice, wrapped inside real ice, placed on a floating glacier remnant and pushed out to sea, with only a blended margarita and a below-40-degree wind chill to keep it company.
• 67 degrees.  Feels like:  Reading Chaucer, while on Ambien.  
• 47 degrees, with heavy showers.  Feels like: what Charles Dickens said, about how "Black are the brooding clouds and troubled the deep waters, when the Sea of Thought, first heaving from a calm, gives up its Dead."
• 79 degrees.  Feels like: what Oscar Wilde said about how "Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative....."

(Maybe I should stricken those last few samples from my portfolio.  Best to get past my 90 day probation period before I reeeaallly start blowing their minds with heavy literary interpretations of storm fronts and low pressure systems......)

Boo-YAH!  How ya like me NOW, Weather.com?  Huh? 

(So, seriously....call me, OK?  I work cheap-ish.....)

Quite Quotable

Today, one of my favorite columnists counseled a despondent writer thusly:

"As creative people, we do exist in fundamental opposition to the dominant culture. Knowing this, we do not wait to be chosen. Rather, we fight to be heard."

Rock on.

When The Going Gets Tough........

........the tough brand themselves, and "hybridize" their skills, and do other smart-sounding things that Forbes recommends in times of economic crisis.

Yesterday I got all but downsized out of another freelance gig.  The work isn't gone altogether - just dried up by about 90%.  So the better part of yesterday afternoon was spent doing a blitzkrieg tour of the many stages of grief.  There was denial....anger.....chocolate....tequila.....and some other stuff.  The tequila kind of obliterated the last couple of stages...... 

Mine isn't a dignified, Ingrid Bergman sort of grief, either.  Hell no.  I emit high-pitched sounds that fracture canine eardrums.  I leak a dizzying array of fluids from every cranial orifice.  What is a decorous trembling lower lip on some people becomes grotesque performance art on my mug.

But then I thought, screw it.  I mean, sure.....less income = bad.  But more free time?  Good!  Great!  I reminded myself that, when life hands you lemons, you should make lemonade a really intricate lemon souffle and then craft an art deco perfume decanter out of the rind, because you have the time to spare now.

Finally, I can make time for other important tasks I've been neglecting!  Like getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon.  And finishing up my Really Weird Novel.  Yeah, I decided I don't have a Great American Novel in me.  But that Really Weird One has been sitting around half-finished for forever already.  And I'm kind of excited to get back to that.

Forbes tells me I should be teaching myself Chinese, or how to decode the human genome, in my newly flexible free time, but mostly, the OCD part of my brain just wants to sit around all day doing this to watermelons:

And you know what?  I'm gonna!  When I'm not otherwise occupied with finishing up my Really Weird Novel.  Because it's my pity party, and I can celebrate however I like.

Frak Forbes!

You Can Please Some of the People, Some of the Time.......

....although it's the ones you displease who are the most vocal.

After the past week or so, all I can say is wow.

As many of you know, I'm basically a self-confessed hack.  Beyond this blog, I write about TV and web shows on other sites in exchange for a little coin.  Most days, my job(s) are pretty fun, and I consider myself lucky.  Although there are downsides to putting your opinion out there.....even regarding such a trivial pursuit as filmed entertainment, as it turns out. 

A few weeks ago, I reviewed a web horror series.  I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it.  I enjoyed it for what it was, and I thought it had some redeeming qualities, particularly as the requirements of the genre are somewhat restrictive.  (I've been watching horror for decades.  Anthony Hopkins' iconic Hannibal aside - or maybe even in hand - horror tends to be kinda silly stuff.  But hey, that's part of its charm.)   So I wrote what I thought was a review that reflected this.

Some fans of the show took the critical aspects of my review really, reeeeeeeeeally personally.  Their responses started off innocuously enough.  I was informed that I "suck eggs," "stink like a skunk" and should "stick to pot luck dinners."  (Maybe I should stop sucking those eggs and instead whip them into a tasty quiche, so I don't show up at those pot luck dinners empty-handed........)  Then suddenly: BAM!  Someone commandeers the wheel and veers off the road of relatively benign discord into Looneyville!  They start telling me that I should be watching my back and be worried about running into them in dark alleys (where, presumably, they will not be waiting to hand me a Nobel Prize for Journalism or anything).  Oh, and some even want to perform amazing feats of dentistry upon my person - in other words, kick my teeth in.

Seriously?  For a not-glowing-but-NOT-damning web show review? 

Imagine if I'd actually trashed the show.  No, wait....better yet, imagine if I were speaking out against genocide or powerful drug companies:  the former being engineered by crazed dictators with entire evil armies at their disposal;  the latter having corporate stooges to do their bidding.....stooges who are probably dressed like Agent Smith from The Matrix and who live to show up on doorsteps and say stuff like, "You're a plague and we are the cure.  Here, have some Paxil....."

In response to the minor sub-sh*tstorm that my review has unleashed, my editor sent me this cartoon.  A picture is indeed worth a thousand words...........though I'm sure somewhere on the net lurks a toothless malcontent - one living in a basement with naught but an internet connection to keep him or her company - who will come up with ten thousands more words as to why that cartoon sucks eggs, too.

And ultimately, I can't get too upset over it, because again....there are far worse things going on in the world beyond some strangers talking smack to me (note the reference to genocide above).  Still, it kinda boggled my mind a bit to be reminded that there are maladjusted people out there who only have fictional characters to keep them company.......

Awwww.........someone needs a hug.  Or a hobby - preferably one that involves stepping outside and breathing fresh air once in a while......

I have been served my just deserts (but I would have preferred just desserts)!

So, a copyeditor who is far more knowledgeable than I in matters of precise language (hey, precision has never been my forte) just taught me something that I didn't know.  Did you know that when you want to discuss how someone got what was coming to them, it's "just deserts"?  And not "just desserts"?  I embarrassed myself by pointing out what I assumed to be a typo in utilization of the former, only to learn that....no........I was the one who had committed the typo by spelling it the latter way.

Here - Snopes does a better job explaining it than I ever could.

Or as the copyeditor more succinctly put it, "It is "deserts" because the root word is "deserve.""

This got me to thinking...........mmmmmm, dessert.  I think I'll stuff my verbal humiliation into oblivion by whipping up one of my homemade chocolate cream pies today, remove my foot from a certain facial orifice, and shove some pie in there instead...........

A Fuss Over Cuss

When I.G. was first introducing me to football (the real kind, that is....not the American version), he pointed out that a lot of the excitement of the game takes place off the pitch.  There is the trading of players, coaches getting sacked, the lives of referees being threatened, ancient vendettas between rival teams, powerful and mysterious billionaires taking over clubs out of the blue, and plenty of talking smack amongst all involved.  As my other half succinctly put it: "It's like a soap opera for men." 

 True, true.

Case in point:  a drama that unfolded this week involved the interim coach for Newcastle, who has temporarily stepped into the shoes of their recently sacked coach.  Newcastle is facing all sorts of other drama at the moment, like potential takeover by Saudi bazillionaires, and particularly appalling recent player performance.  So, this new interim stopgap coach is, as it turns out, ill-versed in dealing with media.  Recently at a press conference, they asked him a few pointed questions, and he got touchy.  Like, really touchy.  Tourettic, name-calling touchy..........and I don't mean names like "nincompoop." 

It's generated a whole big fuss. 

I could go into more detail, although Russell Brand has already done so, brilliantly.  Read his column here.  Yes - in addition to being a talented actor and talented comedian, he's a talented columnist and a talented footie pundit.  Some people are just annoying that way.

My spare time lately is going toward packing up all of my earthly possessions and cramming them into many, many boxes.  For such a small apartment, our place holds an alarming amount of earthly possessions.  I'm also packing up all of a certain toddler's earthly possessions.  For someone who is barely two years old, she has, like, fifty times the amount of earthly possessions that her father and I have, combined.  Anyhoo.......that's why my blog is being outsourced an awful lot lately.  (Though in my defense, I am often outsourcing to myself, and drawing upon my handiwork at other websites to attempt to shore the gaps contained herein.)

So........stay tuned, and more soon.  From myself....or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

"Here's to Swimmin' With Bowl-Legged Women...."

- Quint

That headline has absolutely nothing to do with the content of today's post, in case you were wondering, but....... as it's Shark Week, it struck me that it's been far too long since I quoted Quint.

Onward........

On the professional front, yesterday was merely THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE!  It will take every modicum of restraint I possess - a resource already in scant supply within the thinly layered sedimentation of my psyche - to not compose this entire post IN CAPS LOCK, WHICH EVERYONE KNOWS IS THE ONLINE EQUIVALENT OF SHOUTING - AND WHICH NEARLY EVERYONE FINDS  EQUALLY ANNOYING, FOR WHICH I AM VERY SORRY!!! 

What has induced my caps-lock-worthy rapture?  A few of my freelance gigs have me dabbling in entertainment journalism, and one of my employers presented me with the opportunity to do a phone interview with show business legends!!!  I'm talking about none other than KERMIT THE FROG AND MISS PIGGY!  (Sorry, but really, wasn't the caps lock key INVENTED FOR SUCH ANNOUNCEMENTS?!?!?!)

No, I am not being facetious in my excitement.  Yes, I am this easily pleased.  After all, I do possess a hard cover first edition of Miss Piggy's Guide to Life, and I've only been worshiping her since I was six years old.

I can't reveal the contents of said interview at this juncture in time, as my employer has yet to post it, but I promise to smack the link up here pronto as soon as they run it.  (I can tell you that the power couple were promoting their upcoming special Studio DC: Almost Live which will air on the Disney Channel this Sunday eve........and there's some groovy new stuff at www.muppets.com too.)  As I am but a tiny guppy within a sea of journalists clamoring for a mouthful of chum (in the biz, that's what's known as navigating a "press junket"), I was only allotted a five minute window, but my god - what a view!  I don't care what else I accomplish in my writing career from this point forward.  Even if I yet manage to churn out seven successive New York Times list best-selling novels, and maybe claim a Pulitzer Prize in Literature on the side.........in another sixty or so years, when I am on my deathbed, I will be clutching the recording of my conversation with Kermit and Piggy in my withered, twitching, half-dead fingers.

That was the peak, man.  And it was freakin' awesome.

Confessions of a Thematically Unfaithful, Topic-Hopping Word Floozy

In the ongoing attempt to forge a career as a writer, I'm learning that it can help to be topically focused.  More than one of my web-savvy friends has gently noted that perhaps my A.D.D.-riddled approach to blogging could have something to do with why a really cool blog-promoting service recently rebuffed my advances.  The site's FAQ page did list uncategorizability (this is probably not a real word, but it so beautifully conveys a sense of categorical defiance, does it not?) as one of several deadly and rejection-worthy sins, so I'm thinking maybe the universe is trying to teach me a lesson about focus.  If I could tear myself away from staring at that squirrel in the tree outside my window, I'd probably come to the realization that the universe is making a good point. 

Admittedly, writing about parenting, and cheesy B horror flicks, and British sitcoms, and my food fetishes, and random filler news stories culled from the back pages of assorted news sites, and the lack of parking in my neighborhood, and odd gadgets being hawked on late-night infomercials, and the moths in my sock drawer, amongst other things, could come across as naught but scattershot balderdash to many time-pressed editors. 

Topical promiscuity?  Guilty as charged.

While I fully intend to keep this blog up and running, because I do enjoy a good blather about hooey and poppycock, I think it would be worthwhile to rise to the challenge of creating a second, more topically focused blog as well.  Not simply to have a show pony I can trot out for purposes of professional advancement, but also because I'm frankly curious as to whether I even have it in me to be thematically single-minded.  I think this would be a great character building adventure.

I've been moseying around the blogosphere, trying to get a feel for how specific I ought to get - how specific is specific enough? - and I'm impressed with, though simultaneously daunted by, how a good number of my fellow bloggers are wielding laser-sharp focus like a finely honed samurai sword.  And even blogs with seemingly hyper-specialized aim have their fair share of competition.  There's a whole sub-genre of medieval blogs, for instance.  Medieval blogs!  Who knew?  I mean, besides those people who hawk mutton legs and ale from behind the counter of a small booth or who otherwise devote their lives to attending Renaissance Faires around the country.

It's not as if coming up with a unique concept is difficult.  I could decide to blog about Mayan temples haunted by ghosts of narcoleptic one-eyed vineyard owners named Greg, and probably claim the distinction of most unique blog topic in the process..........at least temporarily until some rival blogger commandeers the concept and launches a blog about Mayan temples haunted by ghosts of narcoleptic one-eyed vineyard owners named Steve, which would at some point be inevitable. 

However, having specialized subject matter is one thing.  Having something to say on a regular basis about specialized subject matter is another thing altogether.  Being passionate about and having something to say on a regular basis about specialized subject matter is of course the ideal.      

I've been mulling over this conundrum for a good two months now.  (I must however confess to only mulling over it intermittently, when not mulling over food, and babies, and movies, and the lack of parking in our neighborhood, and......)  Still 100% stumped as to where to pledge my topical allegiance.  There are so many interesting!shiny!fun!irresistable! topics out there.  Too many.

I'm pretty sure I shouldn't launch my rocket into the parenting blogosphere.  The parenting blogs out there are legion, there are already some damn great ones, and I'm not sure I have anything unique enough to add.  (For the record, this dad blogger remains my favorite of all time.  He blogs on a jedi level.  He's that good.  It's insane.)  But beyond that.....uh........yeah........what was I saying?

Clearly my ability to focus requires additional fine-tuning.  Quelle surprise.

Damn it, I'm determined to triumph in this quest to carve out a single-minded niche of my own.  I just have to narrow it down a bit more than, "Something besides parenting."  If that damn squirrel outside my window would stop putting on such a good show, I'm sure I'd be well on my way...................

Stupid squirrel.