Creative Writing

Cry for the feeling... all for the prize...

I guess I have been somewhat negligent in my duties as a cosponsor of the GBBMC2008 project with Carly... I forgot that I was going to mention the weekly blogging winners here on my main site and not just over on the GBBMC site. Whoops. Please forgive me.

Well, we've had two weekly winners so far and I'd like to give them both a little love. They are:

But there's also something I feel I need to admit... I get a bit of an odd feeling by doing this. No, it's not as though I don't feel they deserve it. Not that at all. Both are fantastic writers and both of these were spectacular posts.

The reason I feel, well, off about this is because it strikes me as though I'm playing the role of host to a truly bad game show. "Wow! That's a horrifically painful story you just told us about one of the most difficult things a person can possibly go through! Great! Now tell her what she's won, Don Pardo!"

Don't get me wrong, not all the posts written on behalf of this project are painful stories of survival or bearing witness to some terrible deed. There are many that are heartwarming, inquisitive, and even some downright hilarious. But still...

Am I weird for feeling this way?

Should I feel this way at all?

Does it bother any of the prize recipients or other participants as much as it bothers me?

This post was written in support of the GBBMC2008: Sexography project. Please consider donating to the Rape and Incest National Network (RAINN) and include "GBBMC2008" and the name of any one of our participants in the comments section of the donation form. And while you're at it, please visit our participants' sites. You can also check out applicable posts on our Shared Google Reader.

As a note to participants... please remember to mention and link to RAINN's donation page in any post that you are writing on behalf of GBBMC2008. It's the only way we know that it is intended to be a related post. If we don't see the reference and link, we don't tag it, and you likely won't win much of anything. I hate to be so blunt, but it's the truth.

GBBMClogolarge


And the flowers and the trees...

Is the age of the old "Birds and Bees" speech dead and gone?

I'm not sure why I'm asking this or why I'm even thinking it for that matter, but here I am. And I'd seriously like to know if the days of dads sitting down with their sons (and mothers with daughters, for that matter) and delivering some insanely awkward diatribe that is intended to convey the concept of sex from one generation to the next has gone the way of the DoDo.

Did any of you have such a speech from a parent or, as a parent, have you delivered this load of hooey to your kids?

To the best of my recollection, I never received "the talk" from my dad. And, to be honest with you, I'm not entirely positive how I learned about sex other than from the three moving boxes worth of magazines that one of my best friends discovered his dad had hidden in the basement of their house. I'm dead serious here. Three flippin' boxes worth. And they weren't even particularly well hidden.

Of course, every time we visited this friend's house, we were in said basement checking out the goods, as it were. It's amazing how quickly a youth can evolve from being a giggly kid excited about any little piece of illicit porn and chanting words like "boobies" to being a discriminator of what images are well shot and which models look better in which situations. I think that took all of two weeks.

There were other lessons learned from a variety of other sources throughout my formative years, as you might expect. But this Library o' Hef was my formal introduction.

And I'm sure my dad is happy he never had to suffer through "the talk."

So how did you learn the story of the birds and the bees?

This post was written in support of the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008. Don't worry, neither this post nor I am eligible for any prizes. Damnable thing about being the creator of the promotion.

Please help support the Rape and Incest National Network by making a donation on their Web site.


Let's talk about you and me...

Just a couple quick notes before I break into the meat and potatoes of today's post.

Sadly I'm not going to TequilaCon this year. Sorry. I really, really want to, but Katie and I are going to Florida again in May and the chance to tour south Florida and see Miami and Key West for the first time in our lives kinda trumps Philly. Sorry all. I will miss you. And I am still going to try to eventually hit up one of the TequilaCons in the future. I just don't know when.

But that's no reason why Hilly shouldn't be allowed to go!

Help send our Hilly Sue to Philly Poo! (Actually, I guess that should be "Philly, PA" but that just doesn't rhyme).

As a note, clicking on either the image at right or the link above will take you to Avitable's site. If you've never been there before, I must warn you that you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. You must be cautious. Oh and NSFW (as in NEVER Safe For Work).

Love the tiara, BTW.

I would also recommend going over to Brandon's site for a well-thought-out reason why ham is the #1 choice of Easter party-goers. Fantastic story that reeks of being made into a South Park script. I miss the SP Jesus.

Oh, and now that I've got you in a charitable mood. Guess what's back!

Yes, for the first time in two years, I'm resurrecting the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign!

No, Paul is not releasing another book that I'm aware of. This time, the benefit was intended to be for Carly Milne's Sexography: One Woman's Journey from Ignorance to Bliss. However, once she realized that April was National Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month, Carly decided to take it one step further and turn this promotion into a fund raiser for the  Rape and Incest National Network (RAINN). Well, it took a lot of begging and promises on her part (check's still in the mail, right Carly?) before I finally relented on my wholly self-promotional ways and agreed to turn my grassroots effort into a fund raiser as well.

If you are interested in joining, please head over to the GBBMC2008 homepage and check out the details. All kidding aside, it is a great organization and we both hope this promotion can help them out in a positive way.

Oh yeah, and did I mention there are prizes? I mean SERIOUS PRIZES. You're clickin' now, aren't ya?

Just as a note, unlike the last time I did GBBMC and agreed to post on my blog for those who wanted to participate but didn't have blogs of their own, this time, you must have your own blog. Even if you start it up solely for the purpose of participating in this promotion. That's fine with me. We'll hook ya yet.

GBBMClogolarge


Gonna write you a letter...

I really dug on this post idea that Alissa threw out there yesterday. So, I stole it. Plain and simple.

Basically, you write a letter to a younger version of yourself. The person Alissa took the idea from wrote to her 17-year-old self, Alissa wrote to her 18-year-old self. I think I'm just going to write to high school senior version of myself. Here you go...

Hey Kevin,

This may be coming completely out of left field and you may not really believe it, but this is you writing this letter... just 16 years in the future. Yeah yeah yeah, this is some pretty trippy time-space continuum violation crap. But, get over it now. Let's get to the meat of this, okay? I am here to give you some tips that can guide you through some interesting times that I know you are going through and will go through in the next several years. Sit back, listen, and don't take offense, okay?

Stop dating your friends' sisters. Move on. Oh yeah, that cheerleader in study hall who you think must be on drugs because she's actually nice to you? Ask her out. According to things you'll find out after graduation, she wants you to. It won't likely last long since college is coming soon, but it could be fun and then you'll have that "I dated a cheerleader" story to tell your kids.

I know Mike is away at college, but give him a call and see if he'd be willing to hang out with a lowly high school kid like yourself. You'll thank me later.

If there is still some time left in the football season, put a little effort into your practices and game time. You know all those names that the defensive coordinator is making out of your last name? He's not making fun of you; he's trying to motivate your lazy butt. Maybe he sees something in you that even you don't see. Put in some effort and see what happens.

At this moment, you are in the best physical shape of your life. Don't fuck it up.

Drop calculus. It's pointless. Your teacher will call you a quitter for wanting to drop, but steel up your nerve and walk out. You won't be the last to leave that classroom.

"Undeclared" and "Liberal Arts" are not bad words. I know you're struggling to figure out what you want to do in college, but architecture is not the way to go. Not for you anyway. Grad school, on the other hand, is. Don't let people tell you you're wasting your life by going back for another degree. Katie will thank you.

Oh, and when you meet Katie, just because it feels too good to be true doesn't mean it is. Take the leap.

Don't be afraid of computers. In fact, in another year, something called HTML is gonna make itself known. Jump into it full bore along with several other computer languages. Learn them, love them, and start a search engine called Google. I know it's misspelled, but trademark the name immediately.

In 1994, scrounge up whatever money you can find and invest it in Apple Computers. Yep, the old Apple IIGS's in your junior high computer lab. The company may not look like much at the time, but you'll thank me.

Wishing you all the luck in the world... you're gonna need it,

33-year-old Kevin

Totally Unrelated Aside (TUA): Dariush sent this to me the other night as he is wont to do every so often. Just some random piece of Web humor... this one contains tips as to what to do and what not to do with regard to babies. I should keep some of these in mind as it appears I've been misled thus far. It's pretty damn funny.


I don't do redhead girls from Lou'siana...

And here she be, folks, the fourth and final in a series of posts suggested by readers in the second Kapgar Lyrical Challenge. Today's title suggested by Erin, who was a bit of a fixation on the Old 97s. Read on!

As I'm sure some of you may have noticed from reading this blog, there are tons of little things in life that bug me.

"What???" you might be thinking. "The hell you say!"

Yep, it's true. Things tend to get on my nerves from time to time. Lucky you, I've got this wonderful outlet to get it all in the open and, thus, thrust these problems upon you.

I love you all. Really and truly.

Well, guess what? I have another one for you and I hope you'll bear with me as I detail it.

Let's call this one "There's nothing worse than knowing that you're not wanted."

This happened to me early in grad school in the years B.K. (Before Katie) when I got involved in a Web-based, long-distance relationship with a girl I shall call "B" from N'awlins. That's "New Orleans" for those of you wondering to where my pseudo mastery of the English language disappeared.

As I'm sure is the case in most Web relationships, we got along great online. Why else would we have continued forth, right? When we progressed to the phone, we even held up pretty well there. When some friends and I traveled to N'awlins in November 1997 for a U2 concert at the Superdome (completely coincidental... really), the first in-person meet up we had was awkward, but we pulled through. And when she and a friend made a trip to Chicagoland for a week to visit me, things were great.

So why, in May 1998, when I returned to the Crescent City solo, did it all go to hell in a handbasket?

The second I stepped off the plane, I knew something wasn't right. She was incredibly aloof with me. A very impersonal hug, little conversation, jacked up stereo in the car. I seriously wanted to turn around and get back on the plane right then and there.

I was in town for her graduation and the parties and whatnot that accompanied such an event. Yes, her college graduation, you sickos. She was actually a half year older than me.

During road trips, as we'd travel from her home in Covington to get togethers in Baton Rouge, Slidell, and other towns, I became quite familiar with whatever music the radio happened to be playing. I learned more lyrics to new songs than I thought possible. I developed a love for Ben Folds Five's "Brick" and Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn" in particular. Great songs that, up to that point, I had never heard. And, oddly enough, both spoke volumes to the state of my relationship with B. As great as a song might be, the last thing you want to hear when you are in what is clearly a failing relationship are lines like "She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly" and "I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel." Painful.

If anyone ever tries to tell me that music doesn't perfectly capture the mood of now, I'm gonna tell them they're full of it.

To be honest, the only time she did pay me any attention was when one of her friends did.

At a party with several of her college friends, one of them took a liking to me. True she was drunk. But it was attention that I had, to that point, not received from anyone else and was in dire need of. She proceeded to teach me the finer points of crawfish ingestion, a skill that apparently requires powerful oral suction. This girl was a fantastic teacher, on top of being cute and overly fawning on me. Yes, she was also known to be overly flirtatious, but that never bothered me. And, when I would catch a glimpse of B out the corner of my eye, I could tell she wasn't happy with how the evening was progressing. Considering I was none too happy about how the entire week was progressing, I was fine with this bout of jealousy on her part.

A little while later, my teacher became slightly overcome by the effects of her night of drinking and I, along with another friend, helped her inside to a bed. The two of us sat there with her to nurse her through the heaves and whatnot. B came along shortly after I got in there and I'd swear she was calling me to her side like a dog. "C'mon, let's go. She's got plenty of people that can take care of her." I projected an "I'm sorry, but I have no other way out of here" look to the other girl who was playing nursemaid and she returned it with an "it's fine; I understand; I got it" look.

I really didn't want to leave because, 1, I didn't want to bail on my sick friend and, 2, I didn't want to be alone with B in the car again. But I did because I really had no choice.

A couple more days passed and I returned home.

I IM'd and e-mailed her a couple more times and received no response. A few days later, I received an e-mail from one of her friends apologizing for her behavior. She said that everyone who was around us could tell that she was being a bitch to me and they all felt bad because they all seemed to like what little they saw of me. No, this was not the crawfish friend. She also told me that she had been trying to convince B to contact me to apologize and even break up with me to save me any more pain. I thanked her for her honesty.

I then shot off a final e-mail to B. I took the step she was clearly too afraid to take herself. I ended it once and for all.

And my timing couldn't have been better. A mere six months later, just enough time to recover from the sting of this relationship, Katie and I got together.

And the rest, as they say, is history.


I hear something there in the shadow down the hall...

Looky looky, not even a week and I remember my challenge post. This is the fourth in a series of posts suggested by readers in the second Kapgar Lyrical Challenge. Today's title suggested by SJ, who was really hoping to learn more about my haunted townhouse. Well SJ, despite our earlier e-mail convo, the story has advanced a bit. So enjoy!

Katie and I have a new housemate.

Uninvited... but not necessarily unwelcome.

Oh, and we have never actually seen him. Not yet, anyway.

I've always kidded around that our townhouse was haunted and I know SJ is firmly convinced of it. Yet I never really bought into it until Katie and I came home one night a week or so ago...

Katie: Hi. We're home.

Me: Of course we are. Who are you saying that to?

Katie: Our ghost.

Me: Our what?

Katie: Our ghost.

Me: You actually believe we're haunted?

Katie: Kinda. I hear a lot more things that you don't get to hear after you leave for work.

Me: Really? So who do you think it is? Only one other family lived here before us and they all moved out intact.

Katie: I think it's the guy who lived in the end unit. He died, remember?

Me: So why doesn't he haunt his unit? He didn't even know us.

Katie: That's just it... he didn't know us, but he knew everyone else. So now he's introducing himself. He just walks in and says hi and checks up to see how things are going.

Me: A bit late for that, don't you think?

Katie: Nah.

After we established that Katie believed it, my own belief began to increase. So it then became time to get a bit more cordial with our guest.

Me: I think we should name him Bernard.

Katie: Our house ghost?

Me: Yeah.

Katie: Why Bernard?

Me: It sounds cool and somewhat distinguished. And we can call him Bernie for short.

Katie: That sounds too much like Weekend at Bernie's.

Me: Well, they're both dead, so it works out.

Katie: Sure, why not.

I think our house ghost likes having a name, even if it wasn't necessarily the name he had when he was, well, not dead.

He also digs on being acknowledged. If we wish him good night and good morning, he stays quiet. But, if we don't, he can make an awful ruckus. Besides just the footsteps I've reported before, you can occasionally hear doors and drawers opening and closing when none of our fellow townhouse denizens are home. They typically sound like they're coming from our attic.

We're doing our level best to work these salutations into our daily routine.

We sleep better for it.

So what do you think the odds are of us getting Bernie to chip in on the mortgage?

Totally Unrelated Aside (TUA): Okay, this isn't really unrelated. I was just not in the mood to come up with a naming convention for yet another way to list a semi-divergent topic in a post. So...

You wanna talk about something really creepy? Check out this video podcast from National Geographic (yes, you can watch this right on your computer screen if you have QuickTime). Now that's just a bit disturbing.


There's bloodstains on my ax and I don't know where I've been...

Damn, I almost slipped and forgot my entry this week. This is the third in a series of posts suggested by readers in the second Kapgar Lyrical Challenge. Today's title suggested by Metalmom, who, after a few weeks of stalking many of us and us not having a means by which to stalk her back, finally opened a blog of her own a few months ago. And much cross-stalking ensued. Check her out!

I have a morbid fascination with the human body and how it works. I always have. It's a wonderful machine that God created in us and I've always wanted to understand the steps undertaken to perform basic tasks like how muscles move joints. Of course, when you're young, opportunities in which to explore this fascination are few. Biology class involved dissecting worms and pigs, not human beings. I always found this to be wholly disappointing.

So when the opportunity to explore the human machine arose, I often took it, even if it meant using myself as a lab rat.

One such opportunity presented itself in my junior high shop class. For whatever reason, our shop teacher had us glue a small piece of wood to a larger piece of wood. I'm sure he had his reasons although they elude me now. When the odd glue-based aspect to the project was done, we were to separate them and use chisels to remove the remainder glue from one of the boards that we were going to continue using for the project.

I got a little bored and, I suppose you could say, a bit lazy. When combined, these typically equate to "not paying attention to the task at hand." And that's when my chisel freed itself of its monotonous scraping task and sent itself flying through the air, powered by my right arm, into the webbing connecting my left thumb to my hand.

Unlike a lot of injuries where people don't realize they've hurt themselves until they pass out from blood loss, I knew right away that I had done something bad. I looked down at the gaping cut in my hand wondering what my next step should be.

Did I tell the teacher? Nahhhh. I sat there and played with it. For several minutes. I just kept pulling it open and examining the muscles of my thumb below the skin. Then I would make movements with my thumb and watch the muscles in action. I was fascinated. It didn't seem to matter to me that I was dripping blood, I was having way too much fun with my new anatomy kit to want to stop.

Finally a friend, who saw what I was doing, forced me to go tell the shop teacher. So I walked over to the teacher and said, rather off-handed, something along the lines of, "I'm not sure if this means I should see the nurse or not." Then I raised my hand and, with my other hand, made my wound talk to my teacher. I don't think he appreciated my attempt at humor and he practically yelled at me to go to the nurse.

I don't remember much after that. I don't remember being in the nurse's office. I'm not sure if I went to the hospital although I'm certain I must have gone. I don't even recall if I had stitches in my hand. Everything after that is a bit of a blur.

But I would like to know who got stuck mopping up my blood spill and cleaning the instrument of my fleshly destruction.

Ah well.

Hey, got a meme for you in the extended post.

Continue reading "There's bloodstains on my ax and I don't know where I've been..." »


I have no fear of falling, but I hate hitting the ground...

This is the second in a series of posts suggested by readers in the second Kapgar Lyrical Challenge. Today's title suggested by Odie, whose blog, well, is non-existent. We must work on that one.

What is the stupidest ballsy thing you've ever done? For me, it was the time I went bungee jumping.

I am petrified of heights. Always have been, and I doubt I'll ever get over it. My stomach churns as I approach seemingly unprotected heights. The top of the Sears Tower, despite being enclosed in glass... churn. The edge of a bridge... churn. The Grand Canyon... CHURN! It's never pretty. Heck, I get queasy when someone else gets too close to the edge of a rather daunting precipice.

I can only pray my kids will be as fearful of heights as I am so I don't have to worry about them becoming adrenaline junkies.

So why did I bungee jump? Call it sheer jealousy.

Back in the summer of '94, my entire family went to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, for my grandparents' 50th anniversary. Being the big deal it was, all family members converged on what we deemed to be the most central point between us in Illinois, my aunt and uncle in Kentucky, and my grandparents in central Florida. So Gatlinburg it was.

For anyone who has ever been there, you know that it's pretty much just another in a long line of what would otherwise be nothing towns if it weren't for the tourist trade. Being the proverbial "tourist trap," there was an odd mix of things to do. Outdoorsy stuff like whitewater rafting and hiking, touristy stuff like Dollywood, and, of course, daredevil central.

Daredevil central, as only I call it, consisted of the suicide rides such as a sky swing, lunar jump, and bungee jumping. They are suicidal in my mind because they are not permanently installed and you clearly take your life into your hands if you're stupid enough to ride them.

In other words, I was going nowhere near them.

My brother, being the little psycho that he is, was more than happy to try the bungee jump. He was gung-ho as he raced up to it and was fitted with his parachute harness, ecstatic as he raced up the stairs. The excitement waned a bit as he first looked off the ledge. In fact, it took quite a bit of coaxing to make him finally jump. But he did. And he loved it.

I felt a minor pang of jealousy watching him leap off the edge only to be yanked back up by the elastic cabling. Not enough to make me actually want to do it, but it was there.

Later that day, my uncle decided to ride the sky swing. This was basically an apparatus in which two riders lay stomach down and are pulled backwards up in the air about 50 or so feet and then released. The duo will then swing back and forth like a giant pendulum. As you approach the peak of the forward swing, you supposedly experience the closest thing to weightlessness you can feel on Earth outside of NASA training.

Since the ride required a tandem, my brother was going to ride with him. Until, that is, my aunt decided she wanted to go. My brother was left in a lurch. That's when, much to everyone's surprise, I stepped up. I really think my parents and brother experienced temporary shock.

But I agreed to it and my brother was now depending on me to get his jollies off... in an airborne sense of it all. So we were strapped in, winched up, and let go. And I loved every second of it. The rush of adrenaline was like nothing I'd ever experienced before.

And I wanted more.

So I looked at my parents and told them I wanted to bungee jump.

They were a bit freaked by my declaration of intent and my brother had the biggest grin of joy on his face.

The next day, we returned to the bungee platform where I was fitted with my harness. I then ascended the staircase and was hooked up to the cables. I looked over the edge at my entire family looking back at me and, on the count of three, jumped. No hesitation whatsoever. I figured I was up there and the only real way to get down was the quick way. So I did it. And, again, I loved it.

Luckily for my recently acquired adrenaline kick, they were offering a two-for-one special. I went up for my second jump. Something felt a bit off this time. I could tell that the clamps were hanging a bit lower as they strapped me in, but I wasn't going to back down now.

And I jumped a second time.

But I should've listened to my gut on that clamp observation. I dropped just a bit further than I should have and my foot actually hit the air mattress on the first dip. I sprang back up and the rest of the jump went fine, but the knowledge that my foot hit what it shouldn't have and the thought that if I had been strapped in using an ankle harness instead of a parachute harness, I might have wound up with a broken neck was enough to kill my thrill seeking for the moment.

Of course, there's still a huge desire on my part to try parachuting. But that may have to wait until my 40th birthday.

Totally Unrelated Aside (TUA): Ah, smart little poor kids. Gotta love the One Laptop Per Child (OLPC) program.


If you want me, I'll be in the bar...

This is the first in a series of posts suggested by readers in the second Kapgar Lyrical Challenge. Today's title suggested by Bec, whose blog, as of this morning, is apparently under temporary suspension by her hosting company. What did you do now, Bec?

Drunkenness can lead to many a memorable escapade. I know from multiple experiences... my 19th birthday, my 21st birthday, my 25th birthday, several other drunken outings throughout my college years, and one time when I was about three years old.

Well, I guess I should clarify, they were memorable to those around me. My own memories of them? Pretty well shot, to be honest. Pun fully intended.

My 19th birthday involved lots of Rumplemintz. What happened after that? Your guess is as good as mine. My 21st birthday? I remember shots one through eight. That's when they hit me with the Three Wisemen (Jack, Johnny, and Jim, all in one glass). After a few rolfing episodes and my roommate sticking me in the shower and dousing me, I can safely say that the only wise thing about them is to never mix them. Three years old? No clue whatsoever. You'll have to ask my parents.

My 25th birthday, on the other hand, I remember fairly well. It was also my brother's 21st birthday (they fall six days apart) and we decided to take part in a DeKalb, IL, tradition known as "riding the rail." This involved paying ahead of time to receive a punch card that lists about a dozen and a half 20-ounce beers that were to be chugged during a single time period during which the bar was open. Each time you drink, you get a punch on the card. The beers ranged from piss water (Milwaukee's Best) to liquid charcoal (Guinness Extra Stout) and everybody you talked to had a theory as to the best way to consume them with as minimal effect as possible.

They were all full of it.

All you can really do is drink and hope for the best. And, more often than not, the best would elude you completely.

My friends BDub and MadIrishMan (MIM) were in town for the festivities and to take part themselves.

I remember making it through all the beers without a problem. There was just the random trip to the bathroom as holding off on breaking the proverbial seal just wasn't going to happen no matter how hard we tried. Better to just take the time and make the trip.

I also remember leaving the bar to go home with little to no incident at all once all the drinking was said and done. I lived about a half mile from the bar so we walked. At the end of my parking lot, apparently, my brother and MIM had enough of each other and started sparring. BDub and I broke it up and we continued on to the steps leading up to my third-floor apartment.

This is where my memory fails. The rest is just a mad spiral downward.

I don't remembering ascending the staircase. I don't remember entering my apartment. I don't remember Katie helping me to the bathroom (she couldn't go with us because she was already sick with legitimate flu symptoms). I don't remember dry heaving until every blood vessel in my right eye popped. I don't remember being left in the tub of my bathroom with the shower running (what is it with me and showers when I'm drunk?). I don't remember my brother passing out in the fetal position in the papasan chair in my living room. I don't remember MIM passing out in my roommates' bathroom with his back against the door and feet wedged against the toilet thus keeping himself stuck inside and everyone else out. I also don't remember my female roommate coming into my bathroom when all attempts to dislodge MIM failed and she just really needed to go, so she closed the shower curtain between us.

About the only thing I do remember is waking up... and wishing I never even did that.

I was too sick to do anything for the next 24 hours. I could barely move. And my parents as well as Katie's parents were coming out the next day to take us all to dinner as part of a mass family surprise birthday dinner planned by Katie. Great timing, Kev.

Seven and a half years later and I still haven't completely lived it down.


The world is a vampire, set to dra-ee-aa-ee-ain...

I truly hate when this happens.

I had what I thought were two great ideas for posts in my head yesterday. I worked them through and began to flesh them out a bit before my softball game. They were prepped to the point where all I had to do was type them out.

But did I?

Nope. I was sitting in my truck and didn't have a computer or a connection.

So I thought I'd grab my Moleskine and write them out. I had the notebook nearby, but, get this, no pen. My truck regularly has three or four pens floating around in it. This time, though, the time when I actually need them? Nada!

And, now, they go bye-bye.

That would've been two posts in the can and ready to go.

Then I thought maybe I'd resort to the aforementioned Moleskine and see what stories I've written in it that I could share. But, as mentioned before, it's all the way out in my truck and, well, I'm not. And I'm just too lazy to grab it right now even though my garage door is not that far away. By the time, I finally considered this as a viable option, it was already about ten minutes before I need to leave for work. If I were to spend the time flipping through it to find a story and then retype it, I'd wind up late.

So basically you're getting bupkis today. How sad is that? You come over here hoping for some story in which I embarrass myself immensely, like so many of my stories have done lately, and I greet you with an admission of defeat.

I'm sorry. Truly. So in light of this, it's probably a good thing that the results of the Lyrical Challenge voting are in so I now have ideas.

The winning lyric, and first one I plan to post about, is:

  • Bec with "If you want me I'll be in the bar" from Joni Mitchell's "A Case Of You"

That'll be an easy one. Got plenty of bar stories to choose from. Mostly the kind in which you don't enjoy waking up the next morning.

Tied in second place, we have:

  • Odie with "I have no fear of falling, but I hate hitting the ground" from The Badlees' "Fear of Falling"
  • metalmom's "There's bloodstains on my ax and I don't know where I've been" from Megadeth's "Sweating Bullets"

I have no idea what I'm doing on that last one but the first won't be so bad.

And tied in third, we have:

  • SJ's "I hear something there in the shadow down the hall..." from Concrete Blonde's "Bloodletting"
  • Erin's "I don't do love, I don't do women named Hannah, I don't do red head girls from Lou'siana" from the Old 97s' "Coahuila."

You might find this odd, but that Lou'siana lyric won't really be all that tough considering I dated a N'awlins girl just before I met Katie. And, while I know what SJ is looking for with her lyric, I don't feel like rehashing an old story, so I'll have to come up with something new.

As for a posting schedule, I know I promised you one, but that may not happen. With how uninspired I tend to feel on any given day, I may wind up doing one of these a week or as many as all five, just 'cause. Having people suggest a theme on which I can blog is going to be a saving grace especially considering how empty my brain was this morning (no comments from the Peanut Gallery, 'tay?). I will guarantee that Bec's lyric will be posted on next week. Probably Monday or Tuesday.

If your lyric wasn't selected, fear not. It is likely I may use it in the near future anyway. There were some really great suggestions, and one comment I particularly liked from The Exception was that I blog on all of them. Maybe I will. But you'll have to wait and see.

Yeah, somehow I'm not sure that typing all this out really took less time than it would have for me to grab my Moleskine and just steal something from it.


Fox fur on my back, bow tie 'round my neck (cont.)...

UPDATE: Added SJ's nomination. Completely forgot. My bad. Please re-vote if necessary!

And now, the vote!

For those of you who didn't play the first time back in September, I've already held the nominations for song lyrics for the Lyrical Challenge. Some of you nominated one lyric while others picked multiple. What I did the last time and will do again, is pick one song lyric from each person myself then I'll post them all below and you guys will pick your favorites of the bunch.

Depending on how the voting goes, I will pick the top several although I'm not yet sure how many that will be. I'll kinda make that up as I go along. Hey! It's my site, I can do that, right? If there are some I really like that don't get the votes, I may just do them down the line sometime anyway for kicks.

What I'd like you to do is pick two lyrics each from those listed below. Put your favorite first and then your second favorite after that. When I tally up the totals, I will give a more heavily weighted score to the first one chosen so please make sure you put them in order with your favorite first. If you tell me, "1. Dagny / 2. August," then Dagny's song will get two votes while August's song gets one.

Here are my favorite nominated songs from each person...

SJ:
"I hear something there in the shadow down the hall..." - Concrete Blonde, "Bloodletting"

Scott:
"Tell you to pray, while the devil's on their shoulder"  - Pearl Jam, "World Wide Suicide"

Bre:
"I feel so foolish, I never noticed" - Bonnie Raitt, "Something To Talk About"

Odie:
"I have no fear of falling, but I hate hitting the ground" - The Badlees, "Fear of Falling"

Bec:
"If you want me I'll be in the bar" - Joni Mitchell, "A Case Of You"

The Exception:
"Sometimes I think about what might have been" - Little Texas, "What Might Have Been"

Sandra:
"Baby got back" - Sir Mix-A-Lot, "Baby Got Back"

Nat:
"If I had your faith that I could make it safe and clean" - The Cure, "Head on the Door"

Dagny:
"I'll never be untrue"  - Al Green, "Let's Stay Together"

august:
"She's got the Jack" AC/DC, "The Jack"

Erin:
"I don't do love, I don't do women named Hannah, I don't do red head girls from Lousiana" - Old 97s, "Coahuila"

suze:
"You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death" - Modest Mouse, "Ocean Breathes Salty"

metalmom:
"There's bloodstains on my ax and I don't know where I've been" - Megadeth, "Sweating Bullets"

Go ahead and tell me your top choices. Remember, only pick two each. Sometime next week, I will post the winners and come up with a posting schedule.

Have a great weekend!


Down on Sesame Street...

SESAME STREET, USA -- What started as a simple expulsion of bodily waste has resulted in a bloodbath here on the set of one of America's most beloved children's television shows. 14 are dead, another 22 remain hospitalized in critical condition, one is under arrest, and children the world over are left wondering why?

From a newly formed perch atop one of the famed brownstone buildings that comprise the set of Sesame Street, a mainstay on the Public Broadcasting System (PBS), Big Bird sat with what he called "massive indigestion" brought on by a crazed sweets binge with Cookie Monster. Without realizing what he had done, the famed yellow-feathered behemoth "dropped a load" right on the shoulder of human cast member Roscoe "Gordon" Orman.

Already enduring a bad day due to cost cutting on the set and the rejection by staff writers of some of his suggested script changes, Orman reached to an inside pocket of his jacket and brandished a 9mm Beretta semi-automatic handgun. At full volume and in view of a full studio audience, Orman shouted anti-animalistic epithets and discharged three rounds at Big Bird before being knocked unconscious by Snuffleupagus. While two shots missed completely, a third round snapped Big Bird's left wing at mid-radius. He is now being treated at the Sesame Street Urgent Care Center.

Although the initial shooting was over, the damage was done and the proverbial Pandora's box was open. What happened next could only be described as "mass hysteria" by one member of the studio audience who declined to identify herself.

Muppets armed themselves with weapons hidden behind and underneath studio sets and began to open fire on what they called their "oppressive human slavemasters" while humans fought back with set pieces and camera equipment.

Clearly the tension had been building for years as the Muppet assault was highly planned. It was just a matter of time before the facade of peace crumbled away letting the true emotion behind the conflict spill forward. Said one anonymous member of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff upon seeing a video tape of the melee, "if Bush had planned things this well, we'd have been out of Iraq years ago. Cold, calculated, and efficient. I'm thoroughly impressed."

Dividing lines between the two parties were not quite as clear as human vs. puppet as some of the fuzzy friends crossed the fur-lined Maginot to side with the humans.

"Ha ha!" exclaimed one Muppet wishing to remain anonymous. "If I don't stay friends with the humans, who else is going to tickle my tummy and stick their hand up my ass? Rosie would hate me!"

A full-scale investigation is underway and many additional arrests are expected. For his part in instigating this armed conflict, Orman has been remanded to the custody of Henson Security and bail has been set, according to Count von Count, at "one million dollars, ah ha ha ha!"

The names of those who lost their lives in this unfortunate conflict are being withheld until next of kin and next of loom are notified.

It's gonna be a strange day. Forgive me?

Totally Unrelated Aside (TUA): I saw the most disturbing thing the other day while Katie and I drove up to her parents' house. I was looking in my rearview mirror because I could feel a vehicle coming up close behind me. You know that feeling you get? You don't see it, but you know it's there. All I saw was a big chrome grill that reeked of a Hummer, but it was surrounded by pink. Lots and lots of bright, girly pink. I looked again and then in my side mirrors and discovered, to my horror, that it was a pink Hummer H3. What in Samhail...


This is our country...

Well, here's the second post I promised. Sadly, I remember this essay about flying over the Rockies and parts of the southwest U.S. being a lot longer as I wrote it. As it turns out, it's only a few brief paragraphs long. Not sure what happened there. But to flesh it out a bit, I'm going to include some photos I took. They're going to be rather small here on the page, but you can click through to Flickr to view them at full size. Some of the photos may look a bit muddy; I blame that on unclean airplane windows and the fact that I was sitting in the aisle seat reaching over Katie's sleeping body to take some of them. The really clear ones were taken by Katie when she was awake.

The view from up here is spectacular. White-peaked mountains struggling to break through the cloud cover. An attempt by the planet to say "good morning" as we pass overhead. Their majesty is second to none and it makes me long to live among them instead of the featureless flatlands where we currently reside.

In-flight mountains In-flight mountains, #2 In-flight mountains, #3

An hour later, the view changes dramatically. The peaks collapse upon themselves into the earth forming plummeting canyons and ravines. Vast lengths of dried-out riverbeds no longer providing sustenance to the sun-baked clay. Low-level mountain ranges extending as far as the eye can see. Together, they comprise a multi-level, earthen tattoo... the planet's ink... made forever indelible by eons of weather-related phenomena.

Southwest terrain Southwest terrain, #3 Southwest terrain, #2

And yet, despite the longevity of these features, an occasional and unnatural cut weaves its way into the fabric of the terrain. A man-made road winding its way through the earth or some other structure interrupting the natural flow proving that we, as mere mortals, can, far too quickly, undo what has taken millennia to create.

Southwest terrain, #4 Southwest terrain, #5


Every step you take...

I sat atop my stoop like a great stone gargoyle gazing out over the kingdom bequeathed to him by the sculptor who carved him and the architect who chose him to adorn his masterwork.

And, much like the gargoyle, I watched.

I observed trios jogging. Couples walking hand-in-hand. Singles strolling by dejectedly with hands shoved deep in pockets.

While most paid me no heed, the occasional individual would glance my way. Some would eye me just as I was eying them. A few nodded in silent greeting. And yet one scowled as though I were a grotesque destined for an existence of ogling solitude.

To her I simply smiled.

I continued my observational duties.

The redhead who worked fastidiously at fixing her sunsoaked hair in a high ponytail all the while returning my gaze trying to calculate what I was all about.

The couple seated in a nearly indistinguishable mass of unadulterated lust. Both facing out toward the river sheltered overhead by a decades-old bridge of ivory-hued stone. She sat between his legs, her back nestled almost too securely in his chest while her forearms found a perch on his bent knees.

Ah, young love.

Then I saw him. The teenaged loner ambling along the other side of the river. His moppish hair worn long over his face and making scant contact with his shoulders. His baggy pants began their life as an olive drab; years of exposure to the sun had reduced them to a muddied khaki. Their length nearly obscuring his lack of footwear. The full-length button-up shirt that should have been billowing in the mid-spring breeze was held firmly in check by a single black canvas strap stretched from one shoulder across his chest to the opposite side securely held his instrument to his back in a travel bag.

My gut told me it was an acoustic guitar, an instrument that, despite its bulk, was a preference of those in this area. Easily transported and ready to be wielded on a moment's notice.

My gut would be wrong.

As my view of the pouch became less obscured, I saw its elongated neck and the squat, round body. This child was breaking with convention. Instead of committing himself to an instrument that a vast number of his peers claim to be able to play and, thus, becoming one of millions, he was breaking free of the proverbial mold. He had made a conscious decision to be one of the few, of the splintered minority. What he had with him was just as readily playable at any given moment, but one whose sound was not readily heard in every sun-drenched park.

My young friend had opted for a banjo, an instrument I had not seen outside a store in more than a decade. One that had become synonymous in my mind with guitar players who had grown bored with their six-string fantasy and needed a new challenge. One whose sound is so easily recognized yet never fails to turn a head due to the sheer lack of adept pickers. It is also one that is not quite as socially acceptable. Would this child have throngs of women suffocating the air around him as he played in a midsummer's heat? Not likely. But did he care? Again, not likely. His dedication to the art of music making was admirable. Bucking societal expectation is never easy.

I had a new hero for the day.


I hope you know that this will go down in your permanent record...

Today's Lyrical Challenge from Karl. The song is "Kiss Off" from the Violent Femmes.

Have you ever seen that episode of The Wonder Years where Kevin (Fred Savage) and his friends teepee their teacher? They did a number to his house. I can still remember the slow-motion sequence where they're practically dancing about in his yard tossing up roll after roll of toilet paper into his trees. When all was said and done, the teacher's house appeared as though it had suffered a mid-spring snowstorm. Everything was blanketed in pure white. It was a sight to behold.

As was my friend's house our senior year of high school.

There were a bunch of us who got together on a semi-regular basis to teepee the houses of people we knew. No one was safe from our wrath, except us. We would camp out in the backyard of one guy's house and plot everything out to perfection. We knew where to get the toilet paper, how we would transport everyone and everything, and exactly what route to use to escape. Oh, we had backup routes as well. I'm sure, if one of cars failed, we even had a backup plan for that. "Stormin'" Norman Schwarzkopf would've been proud.

One night, however, one of the regular crew, B, was unable to make it to one of our white-papered frenzies. I'm not exactly sure what he was doing, but he was out of town entirely.

We sat in the tents in my friend's backyard debating who we would hit that night. Then it came to us... B! He would pay for not being there to assist us.

The six of us headed out to the local Omni Supermarket as they were the only ones who sold toilet paper in bulk. We knew that people were watching us as we pulled that cardboard carton of approximately 80 rolls of toilet paper down from the shelf. They knew what the three of us were doing. But they couldn't prove it.

In case you're wondering what happened to the other three of us (yes, I did say "six" of us headed to Omni), I'll tell you. To avoid arousing too much suspicion, the remaining three of us went in for a second case of 80 rolls a few minutes after the first crew finished their purchase.

No, for this assault, 80 rolls would not nearly be enough. We were going all out, cost be damned.

On the drive over, we began to divvy up the rolls. Some of us carried duffel bags or backpacks full. The others carried them in their arms. We parked a couple streets away and traversed the unfenced yards to B's house (yes, we even knew which yards had no fences so as to make travel that much quicker).

Then we went to town.

After about five minutes, we noticed a car heading down the street.

We all immediately tore off to our predetermined hiding places in the neighborhood.

Continue reading "I hope you know that this will go down in your permanent record..." »


Letters I've written, never meaning to send...

Holy crap! I can't believe I forgot to do this yesterday! I am so sorry. It just completely slipped my mind.

Today's Lyrical Challenge from Rick. The song is "Nights in White Satin" from The Moody Blues.

My dearest Noelle,

We've had a rocky relationship at best. And it's time to put this animosity to rest.

I met you nearly two years ago when Katie and I first moved in to our new home. You were also relatively new to your home. You had just moved in with your roommate, Kathy, in the unit next to ours about a week prior.

You would think this might mean we'd get along famously. We had so much in common as it was. We were both first-time homeowners. We both moved in within a week of each other. We live right next door to each other. Hell, our townhouses share a common walk-up. Plus, we get along very well with each other's spouse/roommate. I get along with Kathy and you get along with Katie.

So why not us? Why do you hate me so?

Anytime I am near you, I feel nothing but pure hatred seep out of the very core of your being. You eye me as though I was the enemy. You back away anytime I'm near. All you do is whine and complain when I come by to see Kathy.

To be perfectly honest, I can hear you moan when I enter my own place with no intention of visiting you or Kathy whatsoever.

Many times, I have held out my hand in a gesture of peace. I try to be nice to you. I always talk nicely to you. I've never said a bad word whatsoever about you despite your obvious mistrust of me.

So why are you such a bitch? That's right, I did it. I called you the five-letter "B" word. A violent reaction? Perhaps. But, in nearly two years of living next door to each other and you burning every olive branch I extend, I think I'm in the right calling you by that name.

I'm really tired of how poorly you treat me.

I'm sick of the griping.

I'm sick of the evil eye.

I'm tired of looking out in my backyard only to see you looking back at me.

That's just creepy.

Stop.

What's it going to take?

Do I have to keep a flippin' MilkBone in my pocket to make you like me?

Stupid dog.

Your pissed-off neighbor,

Kevin


This is the third in a series of four lyrical challenge response posts. Today's post, suggested by Rick, was tied in third place with five votes. The remaining winner is:

  • "I hope you know that this will go down in your permanent record" from "Kiss Off" by the Violent Femmes suggested by Karl (six votes)

I will complete Karl's challenge on Thursday, September 21, if I actually remember to do it this time.


Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round...

Today's Lyrical Challenge from rennratt. The song is "Fat Bottomed Girls" from Queen.

"I don't know what we're going to do if we move into a house where we actually have neighbors in back of us," Katie told me over the weekend.

"Huh? What do you mean? Why's that a big deal?" I asked.

"Well, I've just become so accustomed to not having anyone behind us and I enjoy keeping our shades open. But if we have neighbors behind us, we risk them looking in. And then there's you..."

"Me? What did I do?"

Then it dawned on me... my morning routine.

Katie is lucky in that she gets to sleep much later than I do on any given weekday morning. I work at 8 a.m. every weekday. But she works in a retail environment with a variable schedule. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, she doesn't work until 9 a.m. On Monday and Wednesday, she doesn't have to show up until 1 p.m. My workday is already more than half over by that time.

Despite my excessive jealousy over this arrangement, I tend to play the role of "Nice Hubby" and make as little noise as possible in our bedroom in the morning as I get ready for work. So I shower, brush my teeth, grab my clothes, and go downstairs.

Note that I said "grab my clothes" and not "get dressed."

Yeah, I have this habit of just grabbing my stuff and heading downstairs in nothing but my underwear. Why? Well, like I said above, I try to keep the bedroom as quiet as possible. However, this does seem kinda stupid considering the noise the shower makes. But I do it anyway; it's more the gesture than anything. Plus, we live in a townhouse complex where we are one of the middle units (read: no side windows). All we have are the little dome windows at the top of our front door and then the big sliding glass backdoor.

But, as I've also noted above, we have no neighbors behind us. All that's there is a berm with some tall pine trees. A couple hundred feet behind that we have railroad tracks. Then the empty surrounding fields for several hundred more feet. A major road. Some big backyards. Then, finally, houses.

But these houses are somewhere between a quarter and a third of a mile away. Unless they're looking through some high-powered binoculars, they ain't gonna see jack. Even if they do break out the peepers and decide they want to look, and, God forbid, keep looking, I might as well make it worth their while, right?

So, yeah, my morning consists of about a half hour of walking around downstairs in my underwear. I may even check e-mail or blog in my undies. Hey! If financial institutions can advertise banking in the clothes you were born in to promote their online services, surely I can justify blogging in my boxer briefs. At least I'm slightly more family friendly in my underwear.

To those of you who have met me in person, this concept may seem horrific. For those mental images, I apologize profusely. But never you worry should we become backyard neighbors. I am back in the gym and running again after about a month off. My pansy ass is gonna be slim and trim and binocular worthy. I promise! This wouldn't be a problem if exercise was fun.


This is the second in a series of four lyrical challenge response posts. Today's post, suggested by rennratt, was tied in third place with five votes. The remaining two winners are:

  • "I hope you know that this will go down in your permanent record" from "Kiss Off" by the Violent Femmes suggested by Karl (six votes)
  • "Letters I've written; never meaning to send" from "Nights in White Satin" by The Moody Blues suggested by Rick (five votes)

I will complete these other challenges on Tuesday, September 19 and Thursday, September 21, if all goes well. No word on which one will be posted next. That all depends upon my personal inspiration.


I leave you with photographs, pictures of trickery...

Today's Lyrical Challenge from Chase. The song is "Disintegration" by The Cure.

Can I make a suggestion to all of you out there reading this post right now? If you have boxes of miscellaneous stuff from your past, please go through it right now.

Yes, I mean stop whatever you are doing this instant and go examine the artifacts of your past before it affects your future. Put away the keyboard and mouse. If you are cooking something, stop. I don't care if it burns. If you are at work, grab your keys and drive home immediately.

Recently, an old acquaintance of mine and his fiancee had a "situation" arise in which she discovered a Case Logic CD book filled with discs that he had acquired throughout college. Some were the typical college things like class files, projects, pirated porn. The basics. Nothing much to worry about.

A couple others had files pertaining to an ex. A few photos of their past together, but also letters and e-mails avowing his love for her.

The same thing happened to me a couple years ago when Katie discovered a few photos of an ex-girlfriend of mine that I had no idea still existed. Yes, they were clean photos.

These were, of course, items from our past. These are things that neither of us cared about in the slightest, nor did we even realize we still had them. In my case, they were in a box I knew I had but whose contents I was unaware of. In his case, they just wound up in his black leather book o' discs, packed away and forgotten.

Until they were rediscovered.

It took a while for my friend to calm her down and convince her that he didn't even know he still had them. He was more than willing to dispose of them had he even realized he still had them. They were just in a box that he brought back from college. See no evil... you know how it goes.

So I would recommend that you save yourself from potential headaches and dispose of these things that "mean nothing to you." Find a moment when you can be alone to examine all the boxes labeled "My Stuff" that are in your attic, closet, crawlspace, basement, etc., and throw them out.

Nay, destroy the discs, papers, CDs, photos, etc. Employ sledgehammers, drill presses, tin snips, chainsaws, blowtorches... whatever it takes. Then burn the remains. Finally, bury the ashes.

In situations such as this, "thorough" is the operative word.

You'll thank me and my friend later.


This is the first in a series of four lyrical challenge response posts. Today's post, suggested by Chase, was the number one vote getter with seven. The other three winners were:

  • "I hope you know that this will go down in your permanent record" from "Kiss Off" by the Violent Femmes suggested by Karl (six votes)
  • "Letters I've written; never meaning to send" from "Nights in White Satin" by The Moody Blues suggested by Rick (tie, five votes)
  • "Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round" from "Fat Bottomed Girls" by Queen suggested by rennratt (tie, five votes)

I will complete these other challenges on Thursday, September 14; Tuesday, September 19; and Thursday, September 21, if all goes well. No word on which ones will be posted in which order, though. That all depends upon my personal inspiration.


I get down on my knees, I do anything for you...

The time to vote is nigh!

Yes, I apologize, but it is time to stop nominating songs and get on with picking them.

I just realized that in Thursday's post, I said I was going to do this "tomorrow" as in what is now yesterday or Friday. Whoops. I think I was anticipating the weekend being here a bit too early. I had a mental image of this happening on Saturday, but was thinking (or maybe just wishing) that I was posting that on a Friday. Talk about jumping the gun. My bad.

I have chosen one or two lyrics from each person who posited a challenge and now you all get to vote. Just pick your four favorites and tell me in the comments. Each of you can vote only once. And each of you can only vote on a single lyric once. No stacking by giving your lyric all four of your votes. In cases of ties, I will break them. It's my blog and I'm going to be the one writing these, so I have that right.

Continue reading "I get down on my knees, I do anything for you..." »


I don't want anybody else...

As I've been doing for more than a year now, my post titles are always song lyrics or song titles (or some bastardization thereof). And this theme of mine has always made me wonder about a possible challenge involving all of you, my dear readers.

However, I've held off on this idea for a few months now for a couple of reasons. 1) I wasn't sure if there would be any interest; and 2) I'm afraid of what you all will come up with.

Having Chase chime in with continued lyrics to yesterday's post title (which was George Michael's "One More Try," by the way) made me realize that #1 need not be a concern. At least a few of you might be interested. #2 still worries me, though. But I'm going to muscle through my initial trepidations and see what happens.

What I want to do is have all of you suggest lyrics for me for a post. I will pick out a few of my favorite suggestions and blog using them as the driving theme. Whether the post actually winds up being what you expect it to be is something we'll all discover together. I will try to blog about something that has or will soon actually happen to me in real life, but I can't guarantee it. If I only get a few suggestions, I'll eventually post about them all. If I get a ton, we may hold a vote to get the "People's Choice," per se.

A few caveats...

  1. These must be real songs and ones that I either already know or are verifiable by listening to the song on iTunes or having you all send me the track so I can hear that it's real and you're not just making stuff up to screw with my head. So, in addition to the specific lyric, I will also need the band/artist name and song title.
  2. KISS - Keep It Short and Sweet. I try to keep my post titles to a single line on my blog. Don't send me the entire chorus. Just pick a single line from the song.
  3. Be creative; but don't frighten me, please.
  4. No DiVinyl's "I Touch Myself." 'Nuff said.

The posting schedule remains to be determined based on participation. Depending on the popularity of this idea, I may try to make it a regular occurrence.  I'll post revisions to this challenge in the comments.

No matter how you look at it, it sounds like an interesting challenge to me in terms of creative writing.

I'm either extremely brave or insanely friggin' stupid.

So who will be the daring first challenger?

UPDATE (9/12): The first round of Kapgar's Lyrical Challenge is now closed. However feel free to make suggestions here for the second round. Here are the resulting nominations and first-round voting. And here are the resulting posts:

Post 1Post 2Post 3Post 4


Won't get fooled again...

I recently took part in a writing initiative over at Literary Hype based on the Akira Kurosawa film Rashomon. I have yet to see Rashomon, but from what I've been told, it's the story of a murder whose details are being explained by several different individuals and all the stories are completely different. If you want a better analysis, check out Hyperion's review on Movie Hype. And, yes, this film is now on the top of my Netflix queue.

Hyperion, who headed up the project, found two pieces of related artwork ...

Rashomon01_1
one a murder scene

Rashomon02
the other a council of bishops conferring about the murder

... and assigned several of us a character to write as. He gave us a rough sketch of what was happening, a description of each person in the paintings, and a few other details to stew on, and we all went to work.

The end result of our efforts can be found on the Hyperion Institute along with links to each individual tale.

I actually wrote my part of the story a little over a week ago. It's weird to go back and reread it.

But, I do hope you enjoy it!


Fuel is pumping engines...

An ode to Full Throttle Fury energy drink...

This morning, I woke up, my brain on hold,
My joints were stiff, I was feeling so old.

But I planned ahead, I knew I'd need gas,
A little something to kick my sad ass.

Last night at White Hen, I went to the back,
Where energy drinks were lining the rack.

Vitamin Water, Red Bull, and Rockstar,
So many are crap, some taste like pure tar.

There in front of me, a can in jet black,
You'd helped me before to get my day on track.

Full Throttle's your name, with a citrus taste,
You gave my day zip, got rid of the haste.

But, behold on your left, what's this I see?
A can in red? A new you called Fury?

I'm a marketing whore, I like new stuff,
This logo, so tribal, so mean, so tough.

Today I awoke and pulled up the tab,
The smell inside gave my senses a jab.

I took my first sip, I drank it right down,
Such a foolish choice, I'm such a damn clown.

My eyes shot open, my feet left the floor,
My body in gear went straight for the door.

I should know better, I don't want to die,
Dropped down in a hole and covered in lye.

A wise man I'm not; my instincts, they stank,
All sixteen ounces in this can I drank.

Read these words I've written here on display,
If given a can, Sweet Christ, run away.

In all fairness, though, this stuff is not bad,
If you've got a stomach that's ironclad.

If energy drinks are truly your "thing,"
Then Full Throttle Fury's praises you'll sing.

Yeah, I was floating after this can. Quite reminiscent of my espresso pulling days. Yowza! But I sure got a lot of work done and I wasn't complaining about it in the slightest. Amazing how little complaining you do when you have the energy of a stampede of wild horses.


Lost Blogs: The Grand Reveal!

Some of you have figured me out, some of you have not.

Allow me to recap some of the clues I gave each day before I tell you who I was Lost Blogging as.

Just so you don't tune out on this post, the six winners (yes... six! Pauly upped it on us) are listed at the end of this post. Woo hoo!

Day 1:

  • 1947
  • Dying at age 30 (born in 1917)
  • Louis and Clarence
  • "Big Red"
  • Speaking in a foreign language (BIG clue)
  • Legs carry him to victory

Day 2:

  • Augie who enlisted in "The Great War" at very advanced age
  • Cutesy little nickname after her husband
  • "Adopted" by Sam

Day 3:

  • Loved running
  • Feet professionally pedicured
  • Feet must be comfortable
  • Not being loved if they lose

Day 4:

  • Old-fashioned camera
  • Racing partner screwed up his start
  • Came in second place only once in career

Day 5:

  • Defeated by Upset
  • Wannabe jellyfish
  • Street in hometown
  • "I'm craving an apple"

Now, let's see who I am...

Manowarwin
Yes, I would be the great racehorse, Man O' War!

Shocked? Dismayed? Ah, I even said in the last e-mail about the contest that you could be an animal if you could come up with one distinguishable enough that it could be guessed.

And nearly a dozen of you did guess me.

The big kudos go to SJ and Neil, though. They got me on Day 1. Scared the bejeebus out of me that someone guessed me that quickly. I was afraid it was all downhill from there.

Now, let's give my clues a closer analysis...

Day 1:

  • 1947 - I would hope no explanation would be necessary.
  • Dying at age 30 (born in 1917) - same here.
  • Louis and Clarence - Louis Feustel, his trainer, and Clarence Kummer, his second jockey.
  • "Big Red" - only two big-named racehorses with this nickname; the other was Secretariat.
  • Speaking in a foreign language (BIG clue) - how would you expect a horse to understand English? But, like any animal, they can detect tonality and attitude which, in turn, affects their demeanor.
  • Legs carry him to victory - a runner, obviously.
     

Day 2:

  • Augie who enlisted in "The Great War" at very advanced age - August Belmont, Jr., who enlisted in WWI (known as "The Great War" prior to 1939 and the start of WWII) and was the namesake of the Belmont Stakes.
  • Cutesy little nickname after her husband - Her husband was the soldier, and Man O' War was named after that fact.
  • "Adopted" by Sam - Sam Riddle who bought Man O' War in 1918 at the age of one.

Day 3:

  • Loved running - no explanation, I would hope.
  • Feet professionally pedicured - I was going to actually start to mention shoes and having to change them prior to a race day; but that may have been too much of a giveaway.
  • Feet must be comfortable - very important for any runner.
  • Not being loved if they lose - breeders want their stud to be a champion in order to breed more champions. Man O' War bred 64 stakes champions and 200 other winners. His grandson was Seabiscuit. No one wants to love a loser because they're not allowed to. Why stud a loser when you can stud a champ?

Day 4:

  • Old-fashioned camera - just a timeline giveaway.
  • Racing partner screwed up his start - the racing partner was actually his jockey, Johnny Loftus, who had him in the starting gate backwards and didn't have time to turn him around before the starting gun fired.
  • Came in second place only once in career - Man O' War won 20 of 21 races in his two-year career and set three world records, two American records, and three track records.

Day 5:

  • Defeated by Upset - not just a nickname; this was the actual name of the horse that defeated Man O' War. But, who knows, to a horse, these could just be nicknames. Maybe, amongst themselves, they do have "real" names for each other. We'll never know.
  • Wannabe jellyfish - the Portuguese Man O' War, which is commonly believed to be a jellyfish, but is actually a siphonophone.
  • Street in hometown - Man O' War Boulevard in Lexington, Kentucky. I once lived less than a half mile from MOW Blvd.
  • "I'm craving an apple" - that should be a dead giveaway that this is a horse. (I could've also said "carrots," but do I really need to throw you that many bones?"

Making sense now? I hope so.

Hope you all enjoyed taking part in this Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign. I know I had a blast.

But, now it's time for business as usual at kapgar.com.


The Winners' Circle:
C'mon! Would you expect less from a guy who spent a week blogging as a horse?

Congrats to all of you who participated! You did a great job and all deserve recognition.

A few words from Paul...

This was OBVIOUSLY tough.  Everyone's were well-written, creative, and ingenious but I had to pick six so I picked these based on how "real" they felt to me or how authentic the voices sounded. And humor, well, humor is always good.

Congrats to these people and thanks again.

For those of you that Pauly picked, please e-mail me your full name and mailing address. I will be forwarding these to Paul so he can send you your prize booty!

In no particular order (I think):

Acceptance speeches can be posted in the comments to this thread. Heh.

Congrats to all, you lucky stiffs!


Lost Blogs: Day 5

I told you yesterday about the one time in my career that I did not win my race. But would you like to know the real kicker behind this story?

The little bastard who beat me was known affectionately as “Upset.” What the hell kind of nickname is that? But, this name existed well before this particular race. In all honesty, I have no idea what his real name is… everyone always called him “Upset.”

So, when he beat me, the race was “won by Upset.”

Anytime you hear “winner by upset,” “won in an upset,” or some other derivation, you can blame that little freak. No joke.

I win all but one race in my career, and he gets a catchphrase.

Do I have a catchphrase? Nuh-uh. All I’ve got is a wannabe jellyfish and a street in my hometown.

I don’t know if he won any other races before or after that one. But what does it matter? That one race was “won by Upset.”

Life just ain’t fair. My partner, Johnny, found that out the hard way. He was canned.

Heh heh. There I go laughing again. I gotta stop that… it hurts. And the doctors look at me like I’m nuts.

Maybe I am nuts… but I’m craving an apple.


Welcome to the Lost Blogs/GBBMC promotion. If you liked what you read here and would like to see what other bloggers from throughout history might say, check out Paul Davidson's The Lost Blogs coming soon to a bookstore near you.


Lost Blogs: Day 4

After reading my earlier posts, you may be scratching your head wondering how the hell I could remember all those details from the early part of my life.

I’ve heard my story told several times. And, while I don’t understand every word (as I explained previously), I have heard enough of the same words repeated over and over enough times that I can figure it out.

Plus, I have a ton of those flat images of me. I think they’re called photographs. They’re taken with something called a “camera.”

Cameras are the strangest contraptions in the world, aren’t they? It’s a big, black box on a three-legged stand. The box has a hole in the middle of it that they point at you while they hold a big broom-looking thing in the air. Then the person behind the box pulls their head out from under a blanket, makes a goofy face, and pushes a button. What happens next is a bit of a blur as I’m temporarily blinded by that broom-looking wand when it erupts in a flash of light. What the hell is that all about?

I digress.

I began racing really early in life and Sam and my coach, Louis (I call him “Louie Louie” – it’s my one chance at revenge for him constantly calling me “Big Red”… the prick), knew I was something special immediately.

After all, I won my first race. And not by some small margin either. I won my next couple races, as well. I was quickly becoming a force to be reckoned with. In fact, there was only one race in my life that I didn’t win. And you wanna know why? My partner distracted me at the starting line. I was all kinds of discombobulated (what a great word!).

The starting gun fired… and I missed it.

Everyone was well ahead of me on this race. But you wanna know something? Even though I started late and they were all so far ahead of me, I still finished in second place. Yep, I came from behind and only finished about a few heads back on the leader.

How’s that for drama?

Welcome to the Lost Blogs/GBBMC promotion. If you liked what you read here and would like to see what other bloggers from throughout history might say, check out Paul Davidson's The Lost Blogs coming soon to a bookstore near you.


Lost Blogs: Day 3

I loved running. There was nothing quite so liberating as feeling the wind rush through my hair. The pounding of my heart. The throbbing of my lungs. It was the ultimate high.

I don’t know how many of you have ever been involved in racing… I mean on foot and not the automobile kind. If you have, you know how important your feet are to your very existence. They, along with your legs, are everything. If you don’t take of them, they don’t take care of you.

My feet were no less important. And I did have them taken care of… very well, in fact. I constantly had them cleaned and pedicured to make sure that nothing was wrong with them. And doctors were always examining them for instances of bone splints or excessive callusing. You just can’t take the risk that something will go wrong with them.

But another key to racing is comfort. Even if your feet are well taken care of, they can’t do much if they uncomfortable.

A lack of comfort leads to cramping; which, in turn, leads to fatigue; and then, in a worst-case scenario, you lose.

The threat of what could potentially happen should I lose and not place was always looming over my head. And it was quite the motivator.

If I didn’t win, I was worthless. And, since racing was the only thing I knew, there was no way I could ever try to do anything else. I guess I could retire and settle down and start a family. But, who would have me?

The answer is simple… nobody.

Nobody likes a loser. Even fewer can love one.


Welcome to the Lost Blogs/GBBMC promotion. If you liked what you read here and would like to see what other bloggers from throughout history might say, check out Paul Davidson's The Lost Blogs coming soon to a bookstore near you.


Lost Blogs: Day 2

I don’t really know my mom and dad all that well. I was taken from them at an early age and raised by a nice elderly couple.

I use “nice” very loosely. Yes, they were good to me, but only for a very brief period of time.

My adoptive father was prone to delusions of grandeur. He was pretty damned old when I was but an infant and he thought he was still in good enough shape to “fight the good fight.” Yeah, the imbecile enlisted in the Great War – the big war that was going on among all the nations of the world.

My adoptive mother cried. Day in and day out. I never realized someone could have that many tears inside them.

I never cried but she always shared her pain with me, nonetheless. I was her source of comfort. Her rock. Her reason to live while Augie was away. She even referred to me using a derivation of a cutesy little nickname she had developed for him – her big, brave trooper.

An idiot is all he was in my mind.

Why? Well, after he left, she was forced to liquidate the family business. And rather than subject me to the horrors of poverty, she put me up for adoption. She wanted me to have a good home.

And I did just that. I was adopted by a guy named Sam. Sam was a far cry from Augie and his wife, though. He pushed me. He made me work for my keep. He whipped me into shape.

Arguably, what Sam did for and to me made me into the champion that I was.


Welcome to the Lost Blogs/GBBMC promotion. If you liked what you read here and would like to see what other bloggers from throughout history might say, check out Paul Davidson's The Lost Blogs coming soon to a bookstore near you.


Lost Blogs: Day 1

1947:

I’m dying.

It may sound horrible, but it’s true.

I’m laying here in this stiff, uncomfortable bed that feels like a bunch of nails prickling my back and sides. And it aches. Every part of me aches.

The doctors have been coming in and out of my room for the last several days. They keep poking and prodding me trying to determine what’s wrong. There’s nothing I can do to stop them. Louis and Clarence keep coming in trying to relax me. Reassure me. Make sure I don’t snap and “accidentally” hurt one of them.

The thought gives me occasion to laugh a bit. I don’t laugh much these days, so that rare opportunity certainly feels good.

But what kills me is that I don’t really know what the hell they’re saying. It’s like a completely foreign language to me.

I can understand the words of comfort… the terms they use to make me feel better and calm me down. These words and phrases have been uttered to me ad infinitum throughout my life. They may be in a  foreign language, but you adjust. You hear something enough times and, regardless of the language in which it’s being spoken, you can eventually understand it. It’s purely contextual. The look on their faces, the way they approach you, the way they act during their examinations. There’s care and comfort in those actions.

You’d think I would like that.

Normally, I would.

Ah! See! He just mouthed “Big Red”! I know that one. And, let me tell you something, I hate that damn name. Everyone around me thinks it’s great. They love calling me that. Well, guess what? It’s not my name! Nobody asked me if they could call me by that name. Nobody secured my permission. I’d gnaw the lips off each person that called me Big Red if they’d just sit still long enough for me to wrap my teeth around their faces.

I’m laughing again. That’s twice in one day. Not bad.

He-e-e-ey! I have a name! It’s…

Oh great. There they go again. The docs just turned to my coach and my partner and started in with the gibberish. Big, long, confusing words that I’m not even sure they understand. And they’re all speaking the same language. Or so I think.

And they become very businesslike. That’s how I know I’m dying. They speak to me in terms of comfort and then talk very professionally to the people who are there with me. I get cut out of the loop entirely on this part of the conversation.

That’s never a good sign.

But what the hell do I know? I’m just…

Oh hell. Another shot! I hate these. And this one’s going right in my thigh.

DAMMIT! That hurt!

Yes, I can think of far greater pains. A shot in the thigh, in the grand scheme of things, is no big deal. But when you get several of these “lesser” pains all in relatively close sequence and proximity, it becomes a bit unbearable. And my legs are my life. Or “were” my life, as the case may be. They carried me to victory. They made me a champion. They made me famous.

I was a god.

Now this “god” is dying. And I’m only 30 years old to boot.

Time to just close my eyes and remember. Think back to the cliché’d “good ol’ days.” Hey, if it helps me get through this, why not?

Welcome to the Lost Blogs/GBBMC promotion. If you liked what you read here and would like to see what other bloggers from throughout history might say, check out Paul Davidson's The Lost Blogs coming soon to a bookstore near you.


Get over it, get over it...

Apparently, I'm in quite a bitter, yet poetic, mood today.

An Ode to the Dipshit at the Gym Yesterday...

You came up to the counter last night,
With a tone full of venom and spite.
You got in my face,
You fucking headcase.
Now I may string you up like a kite.

© 2006 Kevin Apgar

Here's a tip, jackass... when your "favorite" treadmill is on the fritz, USE ANOTHER ONE! Or, better yet, take advantage of our 65-degree weather and run outside.

I hate stupid people.

But I love limericks.


Steamy windows, zero visibility...

An ode to Microsoft Windows...

Together we work, day in and day out
This situation makes me want to shout.

You freeze, you crash, you enrage me daily,
Yet your makers sing your praises gaily.

Some IT departments, stubborn they are,
Are their choices made while drunk in a bar?

They prefer the low-priced licensing rates,
Don't they realize they're tempting the fates?

Price equals quality, this much rings true,
I've declared this fact til my face turns blue.

Invest in quality, shoot for long term,
Make a wise choice and stand by it quite firm.

There's another choice, a better O.S.,
One that makes you scream aloud, "OH HELL YES."

The name's OSX and it's made by Mac,
And once you've gone Mac, there's no going back.

© 2006 Kevin Apgar

I'm done with you Windows. You and all the errors and crashes that you so readily propagate. My fury is at its peak. I want out... but I can't. Work dictates I deal with this hell on a daily basis.

I wish I knew how to quit you.


Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood...

First of all, I need to congratulate Jacynth who posted the 1,000th comment on my blog.  Wow... 1,000.  That's pretty weird to think about.  Thank you to all my family, friends, and blog buddies out there for keeping me motivated to constantly post and garner these comments.  The immediacy of comment feedback really does make this whole thing worthwhile.  I'm sure almost any blogger would agree.

Again, congrats, Jacynth!

And, if you were still up in the air about participating in the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign, I now have reason why you should shed any doubts and take part in the festivities.

Three words: We. Have. Prizes.

Yes, that's right, we have a prize benefactor in the form of the author of The Lost Blogs, Paul Davidson.  He e-mailed me saying that he would be more than willing to play Judge/Jury/Executioner (only kidding, about the last part) and pick the three best blogs during the promotional period.  Those three select individuals will be receiving a autographed, first-edition of The Lost Blogs.  How cool is that?

However, there is one catch.  His publisher is hoping to not have any of the historical figures that Paul has represented in his book be duplicated in our blogs.  There are quite a few that Paul has covered and I have the list.  But, I do not want to ruin the surprise by listing them all here.  So, if you are interested, e-mail me or leave a comment, and I'll check the list to see if your choice works or not.

And, after seeing this list, I can definitely say I'm looking forward to reading it.

Lostblogsbadge_2 Since there is still plenty of time before this contest happens, I would like to ask that you try to hype it up a bit if at all possible.  I have even created a nifty little badge that you can use to promote the contest.  I would really like to see several more people become involved.  As it stands, with only four participants, all but one of us will be receiving a book.  And, while that bodes well for our chances, I'd still like to see the competition level increased.

All I ask is that you link the badge back to the original contest post (http://kapgar.typepad.com/my_weblog/2006/02/im_just_a_soul_.html) so we can keep an accurate list of contest participants.

I really think this can be something fun to try out even if you don't know Paul.  And, if you do a good job, you get free stuff.  How can you go wrong?


I'm just a soul whose intentions are good...

How would all of you like to take part in a marketing campaign?

Or, more specifically, a Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign, or GBBMC for short?

Well, this is your opportunity to get involved on the ground floor and it costs you nothing but a little time each day doing what you already do best... blogging.

This is an idea I came up with while going for a walk today during my lunch break and it involves a fellow blogger that many of you already know and love.  If you don't, then you should really check out his site.  It is Paul Davidson, the wit behind Words For My Enjoyment.

Misclostblogs Paul is also a published writer and his second book, The Lost Blogs: From Jesus to Jim Morrison, is due to be released to the book-whoring public on May 8, 2006 (you can preorder it from Amazon.com, among other online booksellers now).  The book covers how blogs by some of the most famous people in the world might read.

It really is an interesting concept and I look forward to reading it (yes, Pauly, I will place my preorder soon, I promise).  And, in an attempt to help get word out about this book, I am proposing that we, as Pauly's fellow bloggers, readers, and fans, start our own pseudo-celebrity blogs.

Here are the rules I am establishing for this GBBMC...

  1. You must blog every day for one week straight from Monday, April 10 to Friday, April 14, 2006, as your historical figure of choice.  I have chosen weekdays since there are a lot of bloggers out there who avoid blogging on weekends like the plague.  I don't want to scare them off this campaign before it even starts by making them blog at a time when they typically prefer not to.
  2. Actually, widen that a little bit... you may blog either as the historical figure or as someone close to them.  If you've ever read Giles Foden's The Last King of Scotland, you have an idea what I'm talking about.  His entire book was a fictional memoir of a Scottish doctor who worked, against his will, as the personal physician to Idi Amin Dada.  Really good book that I recommend highly.  If you opt for the latter of the two options, the character you choose, much like in Foden's book, does not need to be real; but the person they are "close to" must be real.
  3. Do not directly reveal who the historical subject is in your blog entries.  Let people guess who it is in the comments.  At the end of the week, you can reveal it.  Even if someone correctly guesses the ID on Tuesday, hold off on the reveal.  Let's make this fun for everyone else.  Just make sure you don't make it impossible.  Dropping clues to your character's identity is fine.  For example, I might sign off each entry with my character's initials, so long as they don't give away the person's ID (I haven't chosen who it's going to be yet).  If you would like to give some kind of prize to the winner, that's your option.  I'm not providing prizes for you to give away.  And, since this is something being done outside of Warner Books' normal promotional circles, don't expect them to provide prizes either.
  4. You do not need to give up your regular blog posting during this week.  You can either post these GBBMC posts as entirely separate entries, or post them together with your regular entry but using some means to set it off as different.  Kinda like what Dave did when he posted his A Very Lego Holiday Tale this past December.  How you choose to distinguish it is up to you, but you should make it clear to your readers so they don't think you have multiple personality disorder or are in the midst of an identity crisis.
  5. You can take whatever creative approach you want with your posts.  If you opt to blog as though you are back in their time period, fine.  If you prefer to defy the space-time continuum and pull a Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure by bringing the character to the modern day, so be it.  But you must remain consistent in your setting throughout the week.  Don't have the person skipping all over time and space, unless you are H.G. Wells in which case time travel might be appropriate.
  6. Each entry should end with some kind of line that links back to Paul's book (the preorder link near the top of this post).  After all, this is a marketing campaign for his book, right?  Only seems appropriate.  Perhaps something along the lines of "Want to read what other people from history might blog, then pre-order Paul Davidson's The Lost Blogs now!" 
  7. It might also behoove you to preface each post with a link to either this explanatory post or one of your own.  You never know if someone might find your blog in the middle of the campaign and, again, think you have MPD.  Just covering all bases here.

Yes, this sounds like an odd idea.  Even I kinda laughed it off when I first thought about it.  But as I kept walking on through my lunch break and contemplated who I could be and what I would say, the idea progressively sounded better and better.  I'm actually looking forward to it despite the fact that I'm not sure who I will be.

So, before you laugh it off, take some time to think about it.  There is plenty of time to decide if you want to take part in it.  And if you do opt to participate, I will have a nifty little badge designed for you to place on your blog.

But I will take this a step further.  I know I have friends who would dig this sort of thing but do not maintain a blog of their own.  If a non-blogger friend of mine is interested, I will post their entries on my own blog.  If you have friends in the same situation, maybe you can open up your blog to them as well.  No, I don't mean give them username/password access, but just have them e-mail their entries to you and you post them.

If you are, in fact, interested, leave a comment on this post.  I will have this post permalinked on my homepage so you can find it easily if you make your decision a little later down the road.  I want to maintain a list at the end of this entry with the participants and links to their blogs so people can find them easily.

Oh, and until Pauly reads this post, he has no idea I'm doing this.  He did not recruit me in any way whatsoever.  All my idea; whether it's a good one remains to be seen.  And, Pauly, if this violates some kind of promotional contract you have with Warner Books, let me know and I'll kill it.

Anybody interested?


Participants (updated Monday, April 10):

  1. Kapgar (Me)
  2. Blogography (Dave)
  3. Who Do I Have To F#$@ To Get Laid? (Mikey)
  4. Internal Monoblog (Sandra)
  5. Two Thoughts Before the Epiphany (Rabbit)
  6. Take Me As I Blog (Jacynth)
  7. I Found a Fatal Flaw in the Logic of Love (Alissa)
  8. In a Kingdom by the Sea (Annabel Lee)
  9. The Seinfeldian (H.F. Peterman)
  10. Whirled Peas (Ms. Q)
  11. Groove Bunny (Wabbit)
  12. Ninja Poodles (Belinda)
  13. Taste the World (C.M. Chase)
  14. Afraid of Diving (Nat H.)
  15. Divine Calm (Divine Calm)
  16. LA Brain Terrain (Adrienne)
  17. Hurty Elbow (Hubert Sorbet)
  18. My Euro-American Life (Claire)
  19. Ordinary Extraordinary (amandarin)
  20. So Anyway (Eden)
  21. Star Inside (Nicole)
  22. Ms Sisyphus (Ms. Sisyphus)
  23. American Twentysomething (Dariush)
  24. MattLandia (Matt)
  25. I Am What I Am (Elvina)
  26. (insert blog name here) (Nicole)
  27. All Things Jennifer (Jennifer)
  28. Where's My Lightbulb? (Kathleen)
  29. You Don't Know Jax (Jacquie)
  30. signifying nothing (Verbify)
  31. work in progress... (Suze)
  32. Life After Work (*lynne*)
  33. Secondhand Tryptophan (Karl)
  34. Chronic Listaholic (SJ)
  35. harmonyinline (harmonyinline)
  36. ilaxSTUDIO (Kim)
  37. Jill Writes (Jill)
  38. Down With Pants (Brandon)
  39. Der Auslander (Mike B)
  40. ~unsettled~ (Kathleen)
  41. jen's 14,221 thoughts (Jen)

Update - Friday, February 24:

There is now a caveat to the contest detailed in my 2/23 post in which we need to avoid posting about historical figures that Pauly already features in his book.  If you are interested in participating and would like to know who is included in the book, contact me via e-mail or comment and I'll let you know.

However, to make up for it and to make this contest more enticing, Pauly is offering prizes.  The top three bloggers throughout the course of the campaign will receive autographed, first-edition copies of the book.  Entries will be judged by Pauly himself.  So make them good!


Update - Monday, February 27:

Lostblogsbadge_2With all the people that are now discovering this contest thanks to the plugs on Words for my Enjoyment, The Lost Blogs Google Group, and Mikey's site, I felt it would be a good idea to get all the information that is on both of my posts right here. Yes, it is a bit duplicitous (oooohhh, nice word!), but it keeps people from having to click all over the place.

So the final bit of information I would need to transfer over from my other post would be that I now have a badge that you can use on your blogs to promote the contest a bit. If you feel so inclined, please steal this badge and post on your own site. I only ask that you link it back to this post (permalink - http://kapgar.typepad.com/my_weblog/2006/02/im_just_a_soul_.html)


Update - Thursday, March 16:

We have now broken 20 participants! I really like how this is shaping up!


Update - Sunday, March 19:

Thanks to Pauly's additional post about the contest, we have another four participants. There may even be more when people log into their RSS readers after the weekend.


Update - Sunday, March 19:

This is just the coolest damn thing. Jennifer of All Things Jen(nifer) has created a blogroll of all the participants in this contest. I will add it to my own blog come April 1. But if any of you would like to steal it now, feel free. Just copy and paste the following bit of code somewhere in your sidebar. As new people sign up for the contest, Jen will add them to the roll. The change will be automatic and you will not have to do a single thing to the blogroll as it exists on your blog.

[script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://rpc.blogrolling.com/display.php?r=7058c93bc64ba5aed8ef55f05048160c"][/script ]

Important Note: Replace all instances of [ and ] with < and > (if I don't sub out the [ and ] here in this post, it will show up as the actual blogroll and you'll never see the code you need to use). You should also leave the extra space after "/script", seems to work better that way.


Update - Friday, March 24:

And now we have 30. This is officially freaking me out that this idea has caught on so well.


Update - Sunday, April 9:

It looks like we'll be kicking off this shindig tomorrow with 40 participants!

Good luck to all involved!


Update - Monday, April 10:

Okay, I pray this is the last time I have to update this particular post (somehow I doubt that will actually be the case). But, some have come and some have gone and now we're sitting pretty at 41 participants. And the contest is already well under way. Some of you have posted some magnificent first entries. I stand in awe. Keep up the great work!


Update - Monday, May 22:

Now that it's all been over and done for quite some time and the book has been released to the mainstream public, it's time for my absolute final update to this post. The one for posterity's sake. Just in case someone does a search for this page and only finds this information, I figured I may as well give you some handy links to my entries for this contest. Here you go...

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | The Grand Reveal