Monday, March 02, 2009

Mail Call

Got a little “present” in one of my shoes yesterday.

Front of the “card.”

In case you can’t read it, the text in the upper left hand corner reads, “to: well, Who did you think it’s to? It’s in your shoe!”

Then we get to the meat of the matter:

Guts of the “card.”

“thanks for all you’ve done”

Apparently, it’s possible that I may, on rare occasions, freak my friend Jonah (10) out a wee bit.

Jon scribbled this mess on 03/02/09 at 10:35 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Monday, February 23, 2009

Acknowledgments

Even if my book never gets published (or written, HA!), at least I know I have the “Acknowledgements” page ready to go.

Thank you, dear reader for picking up and reading my book. I appreciate it.

But before we get to the heart of the matter and into the yarn I have spun especially for you, I need to clear up a couple things.

This book you are holding in your hands? I did it all myself. I bought the computer. I bought the software. Fine, Apple made the computer and those UNIX-y goofballs at Macromates wrote the text editor I used, but apparently I’m supposed to acknowledge them here in MY book because they did their jobs and a simple credit card transaction brought their works to me? Shhhee-yeah, right.

Look, I wrote every single word you are set to savor in this book.

Me.

ALL ME, baby.

I crafted the intricate, deft and surprising plot. I invented the detailed, lovable and believable characters. I even acted out some of the dialog just to make sure it was up the exacting standards someone such as yourself would demand.

Who chose the paper this book is printed on? Me, jackhole. Duh! Only the finest in 100% recycled pulp for my book.

Who dripped ink into the printing press fountains? Of course, I did.

Who ran the giant and incredibly complicated bindery machine to sew this masterpiece together? Your damn skippy, I did all that.

And look at the magnificence I have wrought! Feel that heft! Clearly, what you hold in your hands is without a doubt one of the most important works of fiction in the last four and a half months. And let me assure you that every sentence in this tome has been carefully crafted to amaze, delight and ease you into a higher state of being and consciousness. I am quite positive it will meet with your approval, my new reader friend.

That dust jacket photo? Self shot with a timer, like Real Men do. Every single disgusting and horrendous blemish on my face, all my extraneous and wild nose hair, and even a full and luscious set tresses was Photoshopped out or in as necessary by yours truly, since not only am I an accomplished wordsmith, but even pixels quiver and fall before my dominion.

No one helped me do anything. I just need you to understand that.

Did I ever even ask for help?

No, of course not. I didn’t need any help to birth the splendor you currently cradle in your hands.

And did anyone help me during the editing process? Nosiree, Bob. As a matter of fact, I’m sure that my so-called “editor,” Jane Krapowski, is the person responsible for introducing errors into to the utterly pristine copy I handed over to her. Go look on page 275, for example. See that run-on sentence there at the bottom of the page that meanders around for SIX pages? That’s all her, thinking the passage needed some “meat.” I can’t believe she still gets a salary. Must be some kind of sinecure racket they have going over at Knopf. And man could she ever drone on about the Oxford comma! Word to the wise, never get her started talking about “extreme” punctuation.

Seriously, if it weren’t for me this whole enterprise wouldn’t have gotten off the ground.

And my loving family? Were they patient as I toiled in solitude to produce this magnum opus? Were they supportive of my long nights of shouting bits of dialog into the night sky? Did they offer helpful advice as I sweated the details of this publishing circus?

Let’s go with a resounding “no,” and leave it at that, OK?

Anyway.

Thanks for reading.

YOU, dear reader, I hereby thank. I bow to you. I acknowledge your superior taste in literature and salute you.

Carry on.

Jon scribbled this mess on 02/23/09 at 11:13 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Monday, February 16, 2009

Welcome to Funky Town

Things may be a bit odd around here for the next couple days.

I’m moving the RNT World Domination HQ to a brand new server. So far things look OK, but knowing my level of skill at this sort of thing and because I’ve given up caffeine (again), things might be screwy for a moment or two.

Jon scribbled this mess on 02/16/09 at 12:01 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Yo, What’s the Deal, Here?

“Why have you stopped updating your site, Jon?”

Um.

I’ve been really busy?

Yeah, that won’t fly will it?

OK. Here’s the truth.

I’m writing a book.

STOP SNICKERING AT ME.

Really, I am.

Of course, I don’t have a publisher, an agent or any friends who will read any book I wrote even if I were to pay them large sums of money out of my own pocket, but THAT WILL NOT STOP ME. At this point, it’s more about, “Jon, just write the damn book and get it out of your system” than actually getting it published.

Anyway. Practical upshot. I’m cutting back on posting here to about once a week. Possibly once every two weeks. Hit up the RSS/Subscribe thing-y and you can be alerted the instant I shovel something out. Also, I will continue to update twitter on a daily basis. And the occasional photo.

Thanks for reading. And I’ll be back.

Jon scribbled this mess on 02/04/09 at 10:36 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Monday, January 26, 2009

Learning to Think Before You Speak

Roger’s Wife, Nancy: Oh. Honey, looks like you’ve lost a button on your shirt. You should let me sew that back on for you.

Roger (in his head): Since when does Nancy know how to sew? She doesn’t know how to sew. She’s never known how to sew. Why would she be offering to sew a button back on my shirt? We’ve been married for twenty-five years. She’s never even picked up a needle. I don’t even think we own a needle, much less thread, for crying out loud. And a thimble? Forget about it! Does she even know what a thimble looks like? I seriously doubt it.

What is going on here? Why this sudden offer to pick up a needle and thread and do this for me? What’s her angle? What could she possibly be thinking, standing at the kitchen counter and seemingly innocuously putting together a batch of Chex Mix? She must have something up her sleeve.

Unless.

She’s not really Nancy. I mean, sure, she looks like Nancy and everything, but maybe it’s not really her. That first batch of Chex Mix she made tonight and then threw out? Did that taste like Nancy’s Special Chex Mix? No, it most certainly did not taste like Nancy’s Special Chex Mix. She said it was because she forgot to put in the worcestershire sauce, but how can that be? She’s been making her Special Chex Mix with that recipe for the last thirty years! Forgot the worcestershire sauce? Come on! Does she think I’m a fool? What’s really happening here?

I’ve got it.

She’s a cyborg. She’s been replaced. Yes. Yes! Look at her eyes. Not quite the same shade of blue as Nancy’s. Those idiots! They think they can fool me? Ridiculous. Though, I must admit, they did do a decent job. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was Nancy herself standing there dumping Wheat Chex into our oversized mixing bowl. They even made the hair fall down into her eyes the same way as Nancy’s. But obviously they didn’t do their homework properly. Idiots. If they’d even done even one ounce of research they’d have known about Nancy’s sewing deficiency. I bet this poor automaton doesn’t even know the first thing about Chex Mix and is panicking right now, believing it’s been caught. Yes, look at it, staring at me uncomprehending. It knows I’m clued into its clever rouse. I almost feel sorry for it, poor pathetic machine.

More important than the feelings this crude similitude of a human, though. What is this hunk of robotic junk doing in my house? Why would they replace Nancy with a cyborg? And, even more importantly, where the hell is Nancy? Those bastards! My poor Nancy! Well, if they think I’ll talk to this collection of faulty logic circuits, they obviously haven’t done any fieldwork on me. But what happens when I don’t talk? What will this bucket of bolts and blood do to me then? What if I can’t keep up the facade that I believe that it is the real Nancy? It’s probably been programmed to eliminate me. And there’s no way I outrun that thing. Not with my hip. Which is probably what happened to Nancy. She probably wouldn’t talk, either; and just like that, they extinguished her. Well, that won’t be my fate. No way. After she’s “asleep,” tonight, I’m out of here. I can play along until we go to bed, I’m sure. Just have to concentrate. But then I’m gone! Outta here, baby! And I’ll torch the place as I leave, too. Just for good measure. Bastards and their blasted robots. They won’t have what’s in my head. No way.

But still, that nagging question will linger, even after this house is a nothing but a smoldering pile of ruins, the stench of “Nancy’s” putrid burned plastic shell loiters and the real Nancy’s Special Chex Mix recipe is lost forever to the ages: What could they possibly have wanted to learn from me?!

Hm.

Learn.

Huh.

Wait, didn’t Nancy say something last week about starting to take a class at the community college? Yeah, she did.

And didn’t she say that class was a beginning sewing class?

Oh.

Roger: Oh, well would you look at that! I have lost a button, haven’t I? Sure, you can fix it for me, that’d be great! Have you started on the advanced button repair part of your class yet? Ha ha!

Jon scribbled this mess on 01/26/09 at 03:46 PM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Stuff that's not true (fiction) Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link
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