Monday, April 20, 2009

Fish in the Sea

This is a bit from the “cutting room floor.” I wrote this, thinking I’d be able to squeeze it in to my novel thing-y somehow, but I just don’t think it’s going to work with my main character. So, yeah, I’m shoveling it out to my blog. It’s either this or a picture of me in a one of my new hats.

You’re welcome.

“Hey, buck up little camper! There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“Oh, excellent, I pour out my soul and you shoot back a clichéd platitude.”
“Yes, but just because it’s a cliché doesn’t make it untrue.”
“Let me tell you a little secret about me and ‘the fish.’ I don’t actually enjoy any aspect of fishing. I don’t like having to go to the sporting goods store and pick out a special rod and reel for the occasion. I don’t like getting up at the crack of dawn and trekking down to the sea. I don’t like to bait the hook. I hate waiting forever for a nibble. I hate the excitement of feeling that initial tug on the line, only to feel the crushing disappointment that I’ve merely snagged my line on some piece of garbage from the bottom. Then you have to re-bait the hook and the worms are all dead by then and too much time has passed and it’s hot and uncomfortable out there while I endlessly cast a line into the water and so I realize that since I’m never going to catch anything anyway I may as well stop trying even though I’ve put this huge effort into the process. Add to that the fact that I look and see all these other stupid, moronic and disgusting fishermen who have landed amazing catches off the same pier and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me, I can’t even catch one lousy fish and I just go home dejected, depressed, eternally empty handed and smelling like the stale beer I drank while waiting interminably on the shore for any fish to come by.”
“Um.”
“And! What about the fact that I don’t even live close to the sea? I live in a land-locked version of reality. In truth, I live in the desert on the ruins of a dry lake bed. Sure, millions of years ago, there was an inland sea and it teemed with life and vitality, but those days are long gone. Now it’s a vast wasteland of horror and sterility. There is only dust, a million fossils littering the ground and the past to examine and try and guess what happened. There are no more fish. There was one sea and it held one fish in it. I came along exactly at the right time and she was the one fish willing to…” and I faltered for a moment.
“Go on, say it, she was the one fish who’d consent look at your worm and nibble at it.”
“Well, I didn’t want to be gross, but, yeah, exactly, I hit just the perfect moment to hook her and that moment has passed. Plus, I’m just saying, it’s a terrible cliché and it’s also not based in reality.”
“I think you’re wrong, it is based in reality and I think you’ll find that out eventually, but I also think you may have strained the limits of the ‘fish in the sea’ metaphor to the limits. It’s possible you may have even broken your line.”
“Rim shot.”
“Rim shot, indeed.”

Jon scribbled this mess on 04/20/09 at 08:59 AM, 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

Monday, April 13, 2009

Birdhouse Review, For Reals

My, my, those crazy kids over at Sandwich Dynamics have come a long way from the interesting beta I reviewed a couple months ago. My “official” review hasn’t posted on the iTunes App Store quite yet, but this is it, in case the powers that be at the Apple mother-ship end up rejecting my precious words:

One Thing

One of the reasons I really like this app is that is sets out to do ONE thing and do it well.

Birdhouse is for WRITING and EDITING individual twitter posts before you send them out into the cold, cruel world. It does this with aplomb and with a minimum of muss and fuss. Birdhouse isn’t trying to be all things to all people (i.e, reading other people’s tweets, posting links, photos, etc.), it’s just a nice little app that helps you craft your thoughts into some semblance of order. And it’s got a great interface which is well thought out.

Now, you may quibble with the idea of putting any thought at all into something as fleeting and silly as tweets/toots on twitter, but if you are trying to toss some quality into your twitter stream of consciousness, give this app a whirl. You won’t be sorry.

Full disclosure: I know one of the developers as we had a torrid affair in Hong Kong one steamy night back in ’72. Sure, he *says* he doesn’t remember it and that I’m making it all up in order to blackmail him into footing the bill for my extensive laser skin treatments to cure my chronic and debilitating back acne, but we both know the truth.


Get the app here. And some great info and a bit more about the app here.

Jon scribbled this mess on 04/13/09 at 11:46 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

Thursday, March 12, 2009

New Glasses!





New Glasses!, originally uploaded by zuhl.

I got new glasses last weekend.

They’re growing on me.

Which is actually kind of uncomfortable. You ever had a pair of glasses grow into your face?

Painful.

Jon scribbled this mess on 03/12/09 at 02:59 PM, 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, 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
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