Friday, December 30, 2005

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

The Fiction Scribe's 2005 Year in Review


Well, another year has come and gone. Lots of things have stayed the same: I am still as homely as ever; I am still employed, married, and happy; I have a roof over my head, a car to drive, and great family and friends.

Even more have changed: For some weird, unknown reason, the waistlines in all my pants shrunk this year; I became a blogger, and, by doing so have met several new and interesting people - many of whom are more interesing than me; I became an uncle (one blood related, two more by proxy), I started the footwork on my own website, which will be available to the public in a month; and, I became a published author. Actually, as you all might or might not know, my book should be out sometime in February 2006, close to Mardi Gras time. This is not a coincidence, considering my book is mainly set in New Orleans.
Sadly, with the horrific devastation of Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans might not be up to the level of its former self anytime soon, but she is trying like hell, and that is all that anyone can ask from her.
I am seriously considering a volunteer trip to the gulf coast region within the next few months to help with clean-up; I will keep you posted if and when that comes to pass. Also, I want to point out that a portion of all book sales will go to charity - particularly Hurricane Katrina relief.

Now, for the fun stuff! I give you, drum roll, please:


The Fiction Scribe's 2005 Year in Review for Books, Movies, and Music!



*Crickets chirping*

Disclaimer: These are strictly my opinions, and I am sure you are all fully aware that I don't know what the hell I am talking about most of the time, so if you go by my picks, purchase anything on these lists and then hate it, don't blame me. Or, go ahead and blame me, but don't expect refunds. Or, expect refunds, but don't expect me to hand deliver it to your houses. Or, expect me to hand deliver it to your houses, but, under no circumstances, will I will give out free foot rubs. You bunch of babies.

If you do like the picks/purchases, give The Fiction Scribe a pat on the back!

Now, with that extremely long-winded disclaimer out of the way, onto the lists!

Books

Since I did not manage to read a lot of new books this year, I will give you the Top 5 list of the books I did manage to read:

  1. The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
  2. Colors of the Mountain, by Da Chen
  3. The French Lieutenant's Woman, by John Fowles
  4. The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway
  5. Not Too Far From Eminence, by James Clark Hall*
  6. Queens and Crescents, by Barry Southers, due in February 2006**

*Another Kentucky author who has the same publisher as I.

** Poor attempt at shameless, self-promotion.

Movies

Again, did not see an assload of new movies in 2005, but I think the ones I saw were pretty good. Here's the list:

  1. Walk the Line
  2. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
  3. Good Night, and Good Luck
  4. The Squid and the Whale
  5. Fun with Dick and Jane


Music

If you get any cd this year, it should be Sufjan Stevens. He is good. Mellow, but good. After the release of "Illinois", his astronomical intentions of producing an album for all 50 states is now one less ("Michigan" was the first).

If he keeps producing albums like this one, though, I cannot wait to hear the 50th one.

  1. Sufjan Stevens, Illinois
  2. My Morning Jacket, Z
  3. White Stripes, Get Behind Me Satan
  4. The New Pornographers, Twin Cinema
  5. Franz Ferdinand, You Could Have It So Much Better
  6. Flogging Molly, Within a Mile of Home***

*** #6 is actually a cd from 2004, but I just found out about them in 2005. Celtic punk band who really rocks. This cd is unusually good, especially if you enjoy both Celtic and punk/rock.


So, I want to say thanks to all who read all/any of my drivel the past couple of months. Hopefully there were at least a couple amusing lines and interesting stories. If not, I vow to redeem myself in the new year, by making The Fiction Scribe a bilge-free blog.

I promise to raise a glass this weekend in adulation of all my new blogging friends and readers.

Onnellista Uutta Vuotta!

(Here's some Finnish for ya, janestarr....)


Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Leroy looked like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone...


Great, just great. As soon as I hit the motherload of Christmas bounty, not only do I have to return to work, but with a sinus infection as well. It irritates me to no end, so much that I am inclined to cough upon every door handle within a 20-mile radius, just to get back at that special someone who got me sick. Kidding. I am extremely under the weather tonight, so I am afraid my witty banter and charming posts will have to wait until another day very soon, unless you liked the bit about the coughing on the door handle, then I am happy to announce I still got it.
I did want to leave a little note to all my new friends I am accumulated over the past few months. Here's hoping you all had a wonderful Christmas/holiday weekend!

Do you have a favorite present you received?
-Mine was a toss up between a pair of "change daily" boxers (thanks,mom...the reminder really helps!), Jim Croce greatest hits CD, and these really cool replica Chinese terra cotta warriors from Xi'an.





Pleased as punch about a gift you gave?

Tell me, and I will view your responses whilst recovering. Hell, I may double up on the NyQuil and join in!
Wow, you know what, just getting on here and venting/rambling to you guys has made me feel better already...that, or the shot of Thera-flu and rum I just downed has kicked in and is giving me a false sense of being really interesting.
You know, while I am at it, I better go take a photo of me in these boxers before I have to change them...Have a great day! Now go play with your new toys!

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Truth is stranger than fiction...even at The Fiction Scribe

Since a lot of bloggers are single it seems, and have very interesting dating stories, I thought it would be nice to share one of my more interesting dating stories with you. I am an old married guy now, so all we do is watch tv, go to bed immediately after nightfall, have crazy, tantric, acrobatic, trampoline sex and other boring stuff like that. So, here goes, and if any of you purchase a copy of Queens and Crescents (which I hope all of you will), you will see a modified version of this story in there:

I was 18 years old, temporarily living back at home with my parents (I know they must have loved that). I had recently broken up with my girlfriend at the time, or I should say, she started dating someone else, THEN broke up with me. Anyway, I met this cute girl one night while cruising around our small town's shopping plaza, and when I say "cruising" I don't mean trolling for prostitutes, I mean driving around McDonald's, Long John Silvers, Hardees, and Pizza Hut in a continuous circular pattern for hours upon hours (for all you small-towners out there, I'm sure you know exactly what I mean). Sometimes, we would get nutty and head over to Wal-Mart's parking lot or swing by Arby's. Note that all this time, the main thing we are doing is driving around in the attempt to locate someone we know, preferably ones of the more delicate gender.

Those desperate or confused enough to talk to extremely huge geeks such as ourselves included the following:

blind females
mentally ill females
dumb females
inebriated females
blind, mentally ill, dumb, inebriated females


Somehow, I managed to find a cute girl willing to talk to that wasn't any of the above; I didn't realize until later that she was a female who had an extremely jealous, drug-dealing, drug-addicted ex-boyfriend. I ask her out and she says "yes".

Our date is broken into three parts:

PART I

So we go on our date and she offers to drive. Cool, right? Well, considering the fact that she drove a convertible Bronco - yes, I said "convertible Bronco" - it wasn't as cool as I had hoped. Seems she has a bit of a welding streak as well as a wild streak, so she decided to cut the top of her Ford Bronco right the eff off.
On top of that, her 12 year-old sister's babysitter bails on them, so she has to go with us.
The three of us take off on our date, our hair blowing in the wind, because as I mentioned, we are in a convertible Bronco.

PART II

Our "date" mainly, no, only consisted of cruising around Beaumont Plaza in a vain attempt for additional recreation. Then, my date locates a friend who is very distressed. Her friend proceeds to tell the three of us that another friend of theirs just found out he got his girlfriend pregnant, and is drunk, in a cow pasture, threatening suicide. So, without hesitation my date barks her tires, turns on the 4x4, and proceeds to head to the aforementioned cow pasture.
When we get there, it is surreal. Four or five cars are there, the drunk daddy-to-be is there, picking a fight with his dad, swinging like a madman, and funnily enough, missing every time. My date, as well as a few other females there, are trying to calm him down, but he is obviously a mean whiskey drunk, so their pleas fall on deaf ears. As he is still trying to fight his dad, it seems he was getting rather warm, what with all the excitement of the moment and all, so he begins to undress. Did I mention we are in a cow pasture? We have had enough when he starts picking a fight with me. To top it all off, he starts trying to get into the convertible Bronco with us....in his tighty whities....as the Bronco is driving off. Drunk guy then grabs my door as we take off, so I have to hit him a couple times to make him let go. Even for a wiry drunk guy, he is strong, so we drag him approximately 30-40 feet.

PART III

On the way back to my date's house, time is dragging, for I am extremely ready to go home. It is very late. We stop at a convenient store and she sees him - the jealous, drug-dealing and drug-addicted ex-boyfriend. He is about 30, huge, and quite nuts. In another car is one of his even older druggie friends. They harasses both me and her, as well as one of my friends I run across in the store. As the potty mouthed, 12 year-old sister begins to scream obscenities at the druggies, I am preparing my eulogy.

We start driving to her house, though, we notice a couple of vehicles following us. We get to her house, and it is them. They start yelling at me again, threatening to kick my ass and other essential body parts. Potty Mouth goes off on them yet again. As I get in my car, they block me from leaving. I try to get around them, and they begin to circle my car in a very successful attempt to intimidate me. Finally, they let me go.

Through it all, it was unusual, eventful, and memorable, if not scary as hell. The next day, she calls me and apologizes about it all, and then proceeds to ask me out for another date. Did I say "YES" or 'NO"? Hmmmm.

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Update on Queens and Crescents

Great news! Yesterday, I returned the proofs of my book back to my editor. Now, after another round of revisions, it will go on to the cover art department, where they will create the front and back book covers! It is very exciting, and most importantly, it won't be too long before it will be available to purchase. Soon I will be setting up some radio and newspaper interviews for promotional purposes; I have the green light for a couple good sized radio stations in Kentucky (84 WHAS in Louisville and 63 WLAP in Lexington). At work one day, I talked with a gentleman who is the editor for two newspapers in Indiana, and I also talked with a lady who trains people to do DJ work at a local radio station in the Tri-state area (Kentucky, Indiana, and Ohio, near Cincinnati). People have always told both my brother and I that we have excellent radio voices (think Barry White, then go up an octave or so); others have mentioned we have faces for radio as well. I suppose we were born to do it.
Regardless, it might be a good opportunity to get some exposure, as well as try something different.



Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you!!!!

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Misadventures in Babysitting


Well, well, well, let me tell you all, it was a learning experience for me this weekend. I had the fortune of babysitting my cute as hell infant niece, Fiona (Fifi as she is called). It started Friday night, when I picked her up from my brother's house, located about 30 minutes away from mine. After getting the lecture about driving fast, using my turn signals, and staying in the right-hand lane, I proceeded to get her in the car. Everything's cool. Then, my brother tells me this is the first and only time she has been in the car with ANYONE except him or Fiona's mom - my sister-in-law, Julie. Wow! After that, I tried to keep it cool, but it was useless.
Driving the 30-minute, white-knuckle trek to my house, I was nervous. Sweaty-forehead nervous. Nervous-as-hell nervous. Think-your-girlfriend-is-pregnant nervous. If-I-had-a-kilo-of-black-tar-heroin-in-the-back-of-my-trunk, I-don't-think-I-would-have-been-any-more-nervous nervous. I honestly have not been in the car with anyone under the age of 1 in 10 years or more, and never by myself.
I know this sounds ridiculous, but I have another life in the car I am fully responsible for; more importantly, she is not my child, which adds the pressure.
Then, on the way home, I encounter Christmas mall traffic on the interstate, and you all know how considerate and polite people can be around the holidays. I look back in my rearview mirror and see some jackass in a Hummer about five feet from my bumper! Now normally, I would tap the brakes or throw a few pennies out the window at him, but not with Fifi in there. So, like any normal person, I start mouthing.
"Two car lengths away from me, you b-stard! Do you hear me? Two!" All he sees of course is me giving him the peace sign. Great, he thinks I am a hippie or something, fighting for world peace on the interstate (Don't worry, no cursing was done in the presence of my niece during this situation; I added it in for dramatic effect).
This is not to mention my blatant overuse of the turn signals in my vehicle. Now I am proud to tell you I haven't missed a turn signal in over 15 years, but, this night I tell you all as I live and breathe, I went too far. To avoid any more tailgating experiences I decided to turn the signals on slightly ahead of time...like a minute or so. It even got so bad that once I am pretty sure I used the turn signal on a curve.
By the time I get home, I am a sweaty mess; hardly in any condition to baby sit - overnight. Ugh...home - that is when the fun comes.
Fifi doesn't eat all night; she starts coughing, sneezing, wheezing, and generally feeling awful. After she finally falls asleep (which is several hours after her regular bedtime), she coughs for hours until she awakens at 4 o'clock in the morning. She is wet, hungry as hell, and pissed. Thank God my wife Jenny is wonderful with children. I have two awesome step-daughters, but they are in their early teens, so even for the ol' pro it has been a while.
She finally goes back to sleep at 5am; by 7am she is up again, and this time for good.
We were all dragging ass, tired, cranky, and real pleasures to be around, but by 1pm, when it was time for Fifi to leave, she was a happy, smiling baby without a care in the world.
I know that Jenny and I will do all we can to keep her that way.
Through it all, even for a microscopic glimpse, I understand what parents go through every day. I have a lot of respect for my brother anyway; now, though, I have a whole lot more. Parents - good ones, work tirelessly, every day, just to simply give their children the essentials. It is hard, constant work.
Since Fifi went home yesterday, I have thought about her and her overnight stay about 500 times, and each time I've had a smile on my face from ear to ear.
I think I passed the test.


I know this is awful, but I had to. It's called "Christmas in Cleveland".
:) Posted by Picasa

Have you been naughty or nice? Probably a little of both. Posted by Picasa

Sunset in Puerto Vallarta.  Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Fa ra ra ra ra ra ra ra ra

Well, it’s Christmastime once again. The trees are all decorated nicely, the stockings are hung on the mantle, the eggnog is spiked, and, in some parts of the world, the Christmas cakes are filled with laxatives (I believe that is Australia).

Personally, though, I love this time of year. To me, starting around October and going through early January – it the best time of the year. Some of the reasons why I love this time of year are: snow; two of my favorite sports – football and basketball; family; listening to Christmas music on the radio ad nauseum; eating chocolate covered cherries ad nauseum; friends; sending goofy Christmas cards; the cool, crisp autumn air that fills the skies while a multitude of reds, oranges, and yellows blanket the countryside; Oktoberfest; apple cider; pumpkin pies; turkey and dressing; Yule logs (whatever the hell they are); heavy traffic; Christmas lights; bourbon balls; bourbon whiskey; listening to the Chinese sing “Deck the Harrs” on A Christmas Story; New Years Eve parties; sitting at home with your loved ones watching the ball drop; watching two fat ladies fight over a toy in a department store; getting the finger from two girls in a mall parking lot as I continually circle around the same four aisles in a miserable, failing attempt to park my car…well, the last two aren’t really positive things; the latter did happen to me once in Louisville, though.

I had a very happy and normal childhood, and while we weren’t knocking the bank vaults down with our savings and checking accounts, you would never know, because it wasn’t all about expensive presents or who could get more stuff - it was about sharing with your loved ones and enjoying time together. Sure, I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy my bike I got one year or all the wonderful things my parents bought for me, but now as I am older and I recollect memories from Christmas’ past, I really see the true meaning of it all. I can really see I was one of the fortunate kids, though; even in my small town, there were kids who had it bad – really bad. Even now, I feel a small amount of guilt as I open presents on Christmas morning, knowing others have nothing to share. That is why I do what I can for others less fortunate - in my community and abroad. Still, I could do more.

I feel blessed to have a wonderful and ever-increasing group of family and friends around me now, including ones in the blogosphere. So, in the spirit of the season, let me make a toast:

To my longtime friends and those I’ve just met recently, I wish you all a safe and happy and wonderful Christmas and holiday season. May your today be better than yesterday and your tomorrow be better than both. Sláinte!

P.S. Don’t flip people the bird too much this holiday season (unless it is me accidentally cutting you off in traffic, then go for it).

________________________________________________________________________

Update on Queens and Crescents

My website, http://www.barrysouthers.com , is about half ready. The webmaster is creating several layouts for me to decide on, and, after that, it should be up and running within a few weeks. I will have a link to my site on my blog and vise versa. I will keep you posted!

Currently, I am looking over the proofs of my book. It is quite exciting! So, to allow all of you to get a sneak peek of what is to come, instead of writing I am posting an excerpt from Queens and Crescents:

He walked down toward a long string of white taxicabs parked along the exit of the airport. He stopped at one of the cars and watched as the cabbie got out and opened the trunk. He looked curiously at Sean as he silently filled the trunk with Sean’s luggage, then moved around to the side and opened the right rear door and waited for Sean to move. As he got closer to the cabbie, Sean noticed a sickly sweet aroma of stale alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. The cabbie closed Sean’s door and walked around the front of the cab to get in on the driver’s side.

“Where you need to go, young man?” the cabbie asked.

“Um,” Sean mumbled back, fumbling through his itinerary papers in his shirt pocket. “344 Camp Street.” He felt a little foolish for not being prepared when the cabbie asked him where to go.

“Ah, the Queen and Crescent, eh? Very nice place, my man. Not in the Quarter, but very close.” The cabbie pulled out of his spot and flipped on the meter.

Sean was impressed. There must have been hundreds of hotels in the greater New Orleans area, and yet that guy knew exactly where the place was simply by the address alone.

“Yes, sir, the Queen and Crescent,” Sean replied. “I’ve never been there before, but the pictures I’ve seen are lovely.”

“No need to call me sir; I work for a living. Mr. Boudreaux’s the name.”

“Okay then, Mr. Boudreaux it is.” Sean quickly glanced up at the rearview mirror and noticed Mr. Boudreaux’s worn, yellow eyes looking back at him.

Mr. Boudreaux was a short, thin, graying black man. He had been born and raised in New Orleans, and except for a four-year stint with the Army, he had been there all his life. The stale smell Sean noticed was correct. Mr. Boudreaux had been a chronic drinker and smoker for years. Sometimes he would indulge himself with generous portions of Bacardi rum and coke while checking out the g-stringed dancers at some of the local “gentleman’s” clubs around town. Mostly, though, he drank alone in his three-room carriage house located outside of town.

The air conditioning in the taxicab was obviously not working, and that, coupled with the fact that you could cut the humidity outside with a knife, made Sean’s sweat glands work overtime. He wiped sweat from his forehead yet again as he turned to view the sights from the cab’s back window.

“How far is it to the hotel, sir… um, I mean, Mr. Boudreaux?” Sean hoped it would not be too far, especially since Mr. Boudreaux’s driving skills were somewhat questionable at best.

“Not too much further, young man, not too much further.” Sean heard the cabbie laugh, as if he could almost feel his uneasiness from the driver’s seat. He looked up at the rearview mirror to see the cabbie’s yellow eyes looking at him once again. “There’s no need to get in a hurry in N’awlins.”

Sean was enthralled with Mr. Boudreaux’s definite Cajun dialect. He heard many people speak that way on television, but it didn’t do it any justice at all. He found the way Mr. Boudreaux spoke, as well as Southerners in general, to be quite hypnotic and intimidating—something about the way they pronounced every word very slowly and nasal, as if every word had some sort of grandiose meaning. They didn’t just talk, they spoke, and those words represented knowledge, which is quite the opposite of the typical stereotype of slow-witted buffoons with three teeth and tobacco spittle encrusted on the corners of their mouths.

“Where are you from, young man?” Mr. Boudreaux asked. Sean noticed how the cabbie always grunted and snorted after he spoke. “I’m from Oregon…a little town called Cottage Grove, located about twenty or twenty-five miles south of Eugene,” Sean said. Mr. Boudreaux laughed again as he looked back at him, which made Sean uncomfortable yet again.

“That’s my name, young man—Eugene.” He laughed.

“Eugene Boudreaux, the one and only.”

“Ever been to Oregon?” Sean asked.

“No, no, no, never been. California’s the closest I’ve been. Very nice place, though, I hear.”

“It is…a nice place, I mean. This is my first time in New Orleans,” Sean said, wiping the sweat off his face with his hand.

“Well, what do y’know, I got me a N’awlins virgin in my car today!” he laughed. “You are gonna love it here, young man. We got anything an’ everything a young man could want, and even a few things you wouldn’t want. The finest hotels, the best food in the world, and the women, oh, the women! Young man, we got some of the finest women here that you’ll ever lay your eyes on.” Sean could tell Mr. Boudreaux was grinning simply by the elevated tone of his voice. “The finest indeed. You come down here alone, did you now?”

“Well, um…yes. I haven’t done very much for myself lately so I decided to treat myself to a trip, to get away from it all for a few days. I hear there is some fabulous architecture in this area,” Sean said, feeling a little foolish. I mean seriously, who comes to New Orleans to enjoy the architecture? He waited for the cabbie to laugh but he never did.

“Oh, yes, and that too. Everything you could want. But I’ll be surprised if you do much sightseeing while you’re down here, though.” The cabbie paused. “One word of advice for you, young man. Don’t go away from the French Quarter too far, unless you’re looking for trouble. You do that and you’ll find it, or it’ll find you, whether you want it or not.”

Sean made a mental note of that. Don’t be stupid and get lost in a big town two thousand miles from home. You’ll do nobody any good if you’re dead.

“Any more good advice?”

“If you looking for food, Mulate’s is hard to beat. Won’t cost you much, and the food’s good. Damn good. Brunch at Court of Two Sisters is popular and damn good, too. Now, if you looking for music, go to Tiritina’s, on Napoleon. Any type of music you want to hear, especially the blues. That’s what we’re known for down here, you know? The blues, and jazz.”

Mr. Boudreaux began scratching his head as he paused to think. “And if you’re looking for women, you got to check out the Gold Room. Be careful, though; some places down there on Bourbon Street have more than meets the eye.” He finished the instant they drove up to the Queen and Crescent, turned off the meter, and then put the car in park.

While they were getting the luggage out, Sean asked, “Mr. Boudreaux, excuse my naiveté, but what exactly do you mean by ‘more than meets the eye’?”

Mr. Boudreaux snickered as he sat the luggage down close to Sean’s feet. “Just be careful around the beautiful ones, the tall ones. Their beauty may fill your eyes and their voice your ears, but they may not be all they seem. They could be dangerous, very dangerous.”

Sean felt a chill run down his spine. “Dangerous? How? You mean they might be men?” he asked.

“No, no, no, young man,” the cabbie said as he laughed. “Although you gots to watch out for them, too. Just be careful. You never know where a beautiful woman may lead you, or what they might make you do. Men have fought wars over the love of a beautiful woman, young man. I have fought my share of wars, too, you know.” He paused and placed his hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Just be careful is all I’m sayin’. Just be careful.”

Sean felt more confused now than before, and was sorry he had asked for clarity. Whatever the cabbie meant, he was adamant about it. Sean smiled gingerly before leaning over to pick up his luggage. After he paid the fare, they shook hands.

“Let me be the first to welcome you to N’awlins.” Sean smiled as he watched Mr. Boudreaux get in the taxicab and wait for his next fare. As he turned to face the hotel, he noticed the beautiful design of the building. Since he had taken an ancient architecture class in college, he had an interest in the way buildings were shaped. He walked toward the lobby entrance and noticed a group of women laughing as they exited the doors.

“Hi,” whispered one of the stunning beauties as she walked past Sean. She gave him a sexy smile. Sean caught himself gawking as they moved away from him. What a fool! I have not been here five minutes and I have a beautiful young woman saying hello before I enter the hotel lobby, and I don’t say anything back! Stupid, stupid, stupid! He shook it off and paused for a moment to regain his composure before going inside.

He would not think of architecture again for the entire trip.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

The Evolution of Barry

Just like Homo ergaster to Homo sapiens, I have evolved. Take a look and vote for your favorite!
Don't judge me solely on #3.
Have a great Sunday!


1. That's me picking up the rear; I was always a crappy swimmer, even prior to conception.


2. Isn't that Corey Haim from "Lucas"?
(In case you cannot tell, I am the one with the Chi-Chi's restaurant tee and bitchin tube socks. Bruce, my bro, is the embarrased one on the right).


3. The cute one's Jena; I 'm on the right.
This one is mid 80's.
(Notice the wicked mullet and always stylish yellow tank).


4. Yet again shamelessly posing with a dog (Daisy) to improve picture quality.
(My vote's on this one).

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe...

…is a great movie. My brother and I had free, sneak preview tickets to see the movie last night, which I am sure you all know, is based on the C.S. Lewis series, The Chronicles of Narnia.

We came prepared with contraband (Cokes and snacks), smuggled in by using our large pockets of our coats (for geeks like us, it is almost like stealing from the theatre). Anyway, the nice thing was that people of all ages were there, and most of them seemed to enjoy themselves. Now, I know a free movie is a hell of a lot better than one that cost $8.75, but that aside, I really liked it. We both concurred the story has a strong religious overtone to it; quite possible, since C.S. Lewis wrote a number of religious books (see The Screwtape Letters – highly recommended). They did a nice job with the casting, the special effects were impressive, and there was a good mixture of fighting scenes, humor, and old-fashioned good vs. evil to make for a good storyline….unless you are one of those evil bastards/biddies who would enjoy watching a movie where cute, little, dentally-challenged British kids and their Cockney-accented animal friends get killed; if you are one of those loathsome, offensive brutes, you will NOT enjoy this movie.

_______________________________________________________________________

*I heard this at Hofbrauhaus, in Newport, KY, by a couple of accordion playing maniacs; only later did I realize Homer Simpson sang it as well.

The Sound of Homer

Dough, the stuff that buys me beer
Ray, the guy who sells me beer
Me, the guy who's drinking beer
Far, a long way to go for beer
So, I'll have another beer
La, I'll have another beer
Tea, no thanks, I'm having beer
that will bring us back to

D'oh!

_______________________________________________________________________

‘Tis the season to be jolly, and to make fun of people.

Demented “Dear Santa” letters

deer santa:
I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. Iv ben a gud boy all yeer.
Yer Frend,
BiLLy

Dear Billy,
Nice spelling. You're on your way to a career in lawn care. How about I
send you a frigging book so you can learn to read and write? I'm giving
your older brother the space ranger. At least HE can spell!
Santa
_______________________________________________________________________

Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody!
Love,
Sarah

Dear Sarah,
Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?
Santa
_______________________________________________________________________


Dear Santa,
I don't know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I'd like for my
mommy and daddy to get back together. Please see what you can do.
Love,
Teddy

Dear Teddy,
Look, your dad's banging the babysitter like a screen door in a
hurricane. Do you think he's gonna give that up to come back to your
frigid, fat mom, who rides his ass constantly? It's time to give up that
dream. Let me get you some nice Legos instead. Maybe you can build
yourself a family with those?
Santa
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Dear Santa,
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for
your reindeer outside the back door.
Love,
Susan

Dear Susan,
Milk gives me the shits and carrots make the deer fart in my face when
riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Two words, Jim Beam.
Santa
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Dear Santa,
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy making toys?
Your friend,
Thomas

Dear Thomas,
All the toys are made by little kids like you in China and EVERY year I give them a slice of bread as a Christmas bonus. I have a condo in Vegas, where I spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses while losing money at the craps table.



P.S. Tell your mom she got the part.

Santa “Long Dong” Claus
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Dear Santa,
Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're awake, like in the song?
Love,
Jessica

Dear Jessica,
Are you really that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm skipping your house.
Santa
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Dear Santa,
I really, really want a puppy this year. Please, please, please, PLEASE, PLEASE could I have one?
Timmy

Timmy,

That whiny, begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap doesn't work with me. You're getting an ugly sweater again.
Santa
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Dearest Santa,
We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our home?
Love,
Marky

Mark,
First, stop calling yourself "Marky", that's why you're getting your ass kicked at school. Second, you don't live in a house; you live in a low-rent, ghetto apartment complex. Third, I get inside your pad just like all the burglars do, through your bedroom window.
Sweet Dreams,
Santa

And, finally, back to Queens and Crescents….

It was the Christmas/New Year’s in late 90’s, and, for the umpteenth time, I had just dumped (or been dumped by) another woman I had been dating. I had always been somewhat of a writer, what, with writing short stories and the like, but now I felt the urge to do more; the claustrophobic, “shit or get off the pot” feeling that only comes with a poor self-evaluation. I pulled out that photograph from Susan – the one with “We’ll always have New Orleans” written on it. Her perfume still lingered on it ever so slightly. Then, like a kick to the head, it came to me - the storyline about a guy who falls knee-deep for a woman in New Orleans – a beautiful, troubled woman; a woman who is engaged to be married to a dangerous, hot-tempered crime boss from New York. So, before Christmas that year I began doing research on New Orleans and the Queens borough of New York City. But, I soon realized that it is very difficult to write about a place you have never seen, so I went with Cincinnati (nicknamed “The Queen City”) instead of Queens. On January 3rd of the New Year, I began to write – by hand. I started with a working outline, and then wrote five actual pages that day; then, four the next. After that, I wrote five more, then seven, then twelve. After it was all said and done, I only missed one day of writing in close to five months. Most importantly, I had finished it. I put the written manuscript away in a safe place and didn’t look at it for close to a year.

Have a good week and be sure to check back Sunday for some great photos! Per request from a lost beachgirl (http://lostbeachgirl.blogspot.com/), I have dug up some mid-80’s pics of myself proudly sporting the sweet mullet. For a good history lesson, click here. Thank God I got a job that required short hair….if you still sport the always fresh-looking hockey hair, you may need to pick this up:

See you next week.

Sunday, December 04, 2005


Winter's evening view from our backyard. Posted by Picasa

Little dog, big stick. Posted by Picasa

Warm fire at home. Posted by Picasa