Monday, October 31, 2005

After I split the rally, I went for a beer.

It was cold.

It was snowing.

She split her lunch with me as we talked about the old times.

I wonder what the ratio is between me being serious and me being ridiculous.

Cracking wise - that's gots to be in the novel

I used the word ain't the other day in mock conversation and someone corrected me. Dude, I used the word ain't for effect, to dummy down the conversation. Jackass.

'cause I'm a writer damn it.

That makes me laugh. I'm going to use that some day.

"Why? Why?! Because I'm a writer dammit!"

National Novel Writing Month begins tomorrow

So, now I'm a little worried.

I have not done much planning because I don't have a plan.

My hope is that once I start to write things will start to start.

What's absurd is that, I actually talk like that - "start to start" type crap, mostly as a joke because I'm just some sort of joker.

Most of my life I spend as a satirist, or maybe a cynic.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

even if the police outnumber you

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Don't be afraid of freedom

I signed some petitions to help get things on the ballot but it really wasn't my kind of crowd. They had split their agenda into many issues, I suppose to get a bigger crowd but it just made them look unfocused and ineffective.

I was leaving because my parking meter was about to expire.

"What's going on?" she asked, onced I reached her side of the street.

"Anti-war demonstration"

"But they're wearing riot gear"

With a half laugh I replied "Yeah" as I looked back over my shoulder at all the cops.

The "go figure" was implied.

"You want to stay away from places like that." I don't know if she was talking to me or her small children.

I didn't watch as she walked in a differnet direction.

Friday, October 28, 2005

"You always do good work. What would you do with this?"

First, I wouldn't use that preprinted paper. Second, I know you don't like all my stuff. "What are you going for?"

"Well, I found this font on that computer there which I like and what would you do? Would you do it like this or something like this?"

First, that doesn't answer my question. Second, I really don't want to be bothered with your foolishness. "I still don't know what you're going for? Serious? Casual? How are you passing those things out? What's their purpose?"

"To tell people about the property"

I took a deep breathe "I wouldn't do a block of text like that because no one is going to read that much, it's looks too much to read. I would do the bullet list"

"Only I would have to make it fit."

yeah, no shit

Thursday, October 27, 2005

When I run out of things to read, I right.

Sometimes, I don’t no I'm typing errors.

But then sometimes I due.

I want revenge and that is why I'm still waiting.

Waiting to want just justice.

that would be easier to read if I wrote only justice

or maybe justice, only

waiting to want justice, only

Sometime, I like to be difficult. That's why I didn't right it.

I found out that I write 'I' a lot of time when I really want to write 'the'

I've been reading the archives but usually only when I get a hit for some search that I can't figure out how my site showed up.

It's funny when I can't figure out what I was talking about.

I'm that deep

I think I put in all those extra blank lines because that's the pace of my thoughts

I know I said I see the actual written words that I think but I think it's actually the sounds of the words that I see, which explains a lot of my phonically similar errors but I'm not certain how one sees sounds.

Never mind me. I'm just stalling for time.

So, here's the real book idea.

It's going to be a story about some guy who tries to write a book during National Novel Writing Month. The story that the guy tries to write is going to be about a talking bull frog who tries to prevent the crucifixion of Christ because the bull frog thinks it's a waste of a deity. The bull frog thinks that humanity isn't worth it. That's the story within the story. The rest of the story is his buddies giving him a hard time about it once they find out that he's writing a book. The book will be mostly dialog, and I'm going to switch between third and first person just to piss people off.

Well I guess I really won't be pissing the people off that I want to piss off but it's the principle of the thing, that's most important.

And, if I can't get to 50K worth of words with that, I going to make the whole thing a dream sequence for some homeless guy who lives on the street because he's too mentally disturbed to live a conventional live after some trauma that he suffered from some bullshit war. He'll have a dog named Lefty. He'll play the harmonica. He'll piss on the graves of the founding fathers because he'll hold them somewhat responsible for the mess that the United States is in and because it's pretty much guaranteed that you will get busted for pissing on a living Congressman and he rather not get busted for that again. He'll have a politically connected brother who also is a preacher. Somehow, someone is going to catch a possum with a beach towel and a bat with a trout net and someone will be bitten by a ladybug.
"So, what do you want?" she asked as she held a frosty cold pint glass.

I paused and half shrugged my shoulders.

"A ginger ale" the wait staff interjected.

"No! What do you want?"

"Can I have a ginger ale, please?"

later after lunch she got a worried look on her face and then asked "You're not giving up drinking are you?"

I smiled at her concern and replied "I wouldn't want to break your heart. No, I haven't given up drinking"

As I reached in my pocket for cash she said "You're all set"

"But why?"

"Because I like you... and I would have bought you a shot anyway and they're both the same price"
it's a family trait that makes us appear to be foretellers of the future.

"What are you psychic?" is the question that my sister said was asked of her from a coworker.

"No. I just look ahead."

It's not that difficult to guess what is going to be needed if you just watch and listen.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

I love it when people tell my funny stories because I find myself hilarious at times but only when someone else is telling the story. Usually, I'm not too impressed with myself.

"That was sooo funny yesterday when you dared Lauren after she threatened to punch you. You were like 'Bring it' and she was like 'I will!' and then you said 'Do it. Do it, then. You're all talk. I've been coming here for years and all I've seen you do is NOTHING. You're all talk.' That was so funny. She was so mad at you."

I was just goofing around. If she had made a move towards me, everyone would have found out just how spry I still am
so, yeah.

I was at the bar.

"Don't you work the second job today?"

"Yup" I said.

"Timmy wants a shot" said someone different.

I got to the second job at 10:30PM. I left the second job at 3:02AM. I arrived back at the second job at 3:18AM because my truck had been towed, which at the time I didn't know for certain. At the time I thought it might have been stolen. I was going to miss my CD's, my poker chips and the six folding chairs, is what I was thinking.

I hardly had to wait for the cab, I guess there isn't too much demand for taxi service between 3 and 4 in the morning. I got to my bed at 4AM. For the following two hours, I did my best to forget that the alarm clock was set for six.

I know something about parking regulations. I was parked legally. It cost me 110 cash dollars to get my truck back.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

to my surprise I'm actually reading books on how to write and I love it when I read some of their don'ts, that I actually do, for the same reasons they say don't do it.

because sometimes different is good and screw convention, sometimes.

I also love it when I read some of their do's, that I actually do, for the same reasons they say to do it.

I think I might be learning something.

I don't think I have the same passion for writing as those authors or the regular readers of those authors.

but then I don't really have a strong passion for anything, I guess.

is six days before you start to write a novel the proper time to learn to write a novel?

the answer to that question really doesn't matter because I'm just shooting for 50K worth of words, by hook or by crook, because I have no shame.

Monday, October 24, 2005

there is a line from the movie the Rainmaker where the older brother, Noah, is trying to convince his younger brother, Jim, of something and he's rather persistent in trying to get his younger brother to see his side of the argument when finally Jim says "I see your side, Noah. I'm just not on your side"
so, I haven't any clue.

so, I go to the book store

so, I'm thumbing through books and read stuff like you must have a hero, and your hero must have a flaw and your hero must have a villain and the villain must have at least a small amount of virtue and every sentence has to be action packed and the hero must succeed in the end and remain alive (so there can be a sequel)

and I'm like "screw that"

I'm going to have a lazy ass talking bull frog who fails his mission because he doesn't really care enough to try and dies in the end from unrelated causes.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

recent comments

the new 'recent comments' feature over in my sidebar is courtesy of Lisa.

Thanks, Lisa

Friday, October 21, 2005

4.25 of quicktime movie

you really shouldn't waste your time with this


Thursday, October 20, 2005

Suck on this!

what's the polite version of 'Suck on this'? I wondered that yesterday.

so, I was talking about Teddy Atlas

and said he's like a genius that was raised by wolves. you respect what he says but there is no polish to it

honest, my licking is strictly therapeutic

There are some women that will never show up as beautiful in a photograph but they possess such a strong, no make-up, beautifully attractive sex-free sexual energy that causes one to want to try and lick that energy off of them as if it were life giving, soul saving ambrosia

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

So I'm working on this project that may not actually be hell but it is definitely toasty warm from hell's heat so my big boss pretty much has not said boo to me regarding it because he figures I have it bad enough as it is but my big boss got an email from his wife

Hi Honey,
I work with this PIA. She wanted me to ask you the following: Blah Blah Blah
Please don't kill me.

My big boss forwarded it to me because that my project and added the following.

Tim, please Blah Blah Blah. But you should feel free to Kill my wife. T

so I wrote back

"message received"

which I think is hilarious because it's ambiguous as to whether I'm going to do as he says or that I'm going to kill his wife or neither or both

I hope his wife doesn't end up dead or I may have some explaining to do.


I should go home and try to sleep

instead of posting something that ain't so deep

I should go home, I should leave

but there is this nagging like some pet peeve

I gotta write, yes write indeed

but it's sleep not words that I need

I wonder about spelling cause I'm not using spell check

and if you don't like it you can go to spell heck

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

it was a slow day for everyone, well everyone but me which was odd because usually it's reverse so naturally no one believed me when I said I gotta go.

then I heard "give him another"

She must have seen my heart sink because I wanted to be done. I think she saw because she set a small one in front of me. I would have married her on the spot but there was no justice of the peace so I just casually drank the mug of beer.

Talk of a personal ad materialized. A personal ad in a periodical, rather raunchy. "I can see your ad, all natural" I heard from my friend to the right, to which he added a pose.

"Don't even bother to call" I added.

She laughed, genuinely, as she repeated my words

Then my friend to the right ordered shots of Patron, for he and me.

A line definitely crossed.

A call on the cell "Are you coming back?"

An answer to the extent of - I'll be there in minutes, about three.

I need a new line.

Monday, October 17, 2005

I would just like to say that an 'O' has no flat sides to it

I would also like to say that a 'D' has at least one flat side and possibly three.

So, when you give me the address and write a roundish letter with a flat top and flat on the left side. I'm going with the 'D'

And I'll have no regrets about it.

please learn to write.

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Sunday, October 16, 2005

In blog years I think I factor as old, from what I hear most blogs don't last a year. In my time blogging I've seen people call it quits. I've seen some people call it quits more than once.

When I find out that a blogger will be stopping their posting, I'm usually silent on the subject. To me starting a blog is a personal matter, so is stopping one, whether I'm a fan of the site or not.

So, I usually will wish them a silent 'good luck, i wish you well' as their latest post grows stale.

today's a little different.

good bye, bing.

good luck

i wish you well

too many people believe what they hear

I was struggling to enjoy the coffee. The coffee itself was rather good but all I wanted to do was to gulp it down as quickly as possible. I really had nothing pressing to do, I just didn't seem to want to sit.

I managed to drink the coffee as a normal coffee loving person would do but then I had trouble sitting watching the football game. The trouble I was having wasn't because my home team was losing, it was because I wanted high speed access to the internet. What I was going to do with the wanted high speed access wasn't known to me but most likely it was blog related.

I left.

When I got to my destination, anything I could scrap together into a post for my own blog really didn't interest me and I didn't seem to have the energy to read a lot of other blogs.

I did read Jamie and how he heard someone say the novel is dead. I read the comments too. The guy who said the novel was dead was holding a novel at the time. If his statement was true, he held the power to breathe a little life into the deadness but he put that power down.

I'm a bigger book buyer than I am a reader. I wouldn't say that I'm an avid reader but I like to read. I'm a big book fan. I like books. I like ink on paper. I like words and I like them written. I think the written word is more infinite than the spoken word. We can read writers from thousands of years ago. We can read voices that have long since fallen silent.

I don't think the novel is dead. I think it's an acquired taste. A taste that is best experienced while calming sitting down to enjoy the meal. A taste that doesn't come with the question of whether or not 'you what fries with that?'

sweet sweet candy

I found out later that she actually put on the candy bra and that "miscellaneous girls were eating the candy off" and whipped cream was involved


Posted by: greencatfish.
he's tiny

Thursday, October 13, 2005

I knew this fencer whose favorite move was to flick his foil in such a way so that it would quickly bend and hit his opponent in the back. Everybody who fenced the guy knew the move was coming but there was little they could do about until this one fencer started to do the move to him and he was just as defenseless to his own move.

"I was fucked by my own move" is what I remember him saying after he lost the close match.

Recently, I think I was fucked by my own move.

Here mom, here's a book for ya

so, the 50K still doesn't scare me much but the other day the thought of thinking up a title frightened me.

so, title making got me to thinking about books in general - covers, spines, that crap that gets printed on the back, having cafepress print copies, dedication pages, custom dedication pages. How cool is that? Having a book dedicated to you, even if it's a sucky book.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

in my younger days, my preacher father would take me along with him to the nursing home where he would visit the old people

i never liked it much, no one likes places like that

sometimes, there would be a sing-along which made me like it even less

i would hear them say that they don't get visits and how they felt forgotten

how they were forgotten

there were times my hate for the place was outweighed by my disdain for those who had forgotten those forgotten

there were times I would be sitting in the crowd listening to my father wondering when he would just wrap it up and I would look around and I would notice some of the old folks sleeping and if there was an orderly sitting near the sleeping ones, they would slowly, almost unperceptively reach out for the wrist and check for a pulse.

"life is but a vapor" is what I thought

chemically speaking there is no difference between a foul stench and a pleasing aroma

How come?

Why do I always see it as losing an argument with myself and not as winning an argument with myself?

I don't know why it's such a sticking point

So, as most of you know most of this space is just some ridiculous self cerebral runoff.

So, this is what been sloshing around.

So, I'm in the shower and within my head I hear "Yes, I know you're not a writer but what about the emails?"

The emails, sometimes folks get emails from me, not often because they do take a little something out of me and also because I never really know how they will be received, I mean well but sometime putting things into words can be tough. Putting things into words and sending them in an email where you can't correct the message when you see a brow furrow can be tricky.

The emails are usually less ridiculous than my blog posts. The emails usually go through quality control. The emails get some thought usually a lot.

"What about the emails I write, you mean?" I answered myself.

I just gave myself a shoulder shrug because I think I got my point, which is actually other's point.

And then I wondered if normal folks often had two distinct voices in their head that often had discussions about a bunch of things and when things get ugly a third voice will try to calm things down. And then, even though, I know all the voices are just me, I thought I should not blog about the voices.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

I wonder how much bait I eat

The other day while I was struggling to write a post on why I don't label myself a writer I heard a gnawing noise and looked to my right. And, to my right was a little mouse gnawing at the bait in the mouse trap which I had set. I watched for a moment before I reached for the trap that I knew would not spring. I knew it would not spring because I had just rebaited several traps that were stripped clean by other mice. As I reached for the trap the mouse ran off. I made an adjustment to the trap to make it more sensitive and then placed it back.

After awhile I heard the gnawing noise again because the mouse had returned. I watched a bit waiting for the trap to spring but then I looked away because I really didn't want to witness the mouse trap in actual action but alas it still didn’t spring.

I then thought of the virtue of the mouse. I thought he was brave or was he stupid or naïve or just damn lucky? Anyway, I thought he deserved the meal.


Today's he's dead and such is life. He was just a mouse.
I was already there for awhile when Danielle walked in and Lauren said "Today's Timmy's birthday guess how old he'll be next year"

First I thought the question was unfair because obviously next year is a notable year if it's being pointed out.

"Forty" Danielle said without and any sound of doubt.

"Danielle! You could have at least guessed low" I said with a phony pout.

She then shrugged her shoulders and apologetically said "I did"
Most of what I do is not original content. It's all second hand and rehashed.

Even this which is a mix of classic super hero and old russian propaganda posters sprinkled with cliché surfer dude.
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I'll quickly tell you what I'm not but I haven't a clue as to what I am.

I can tell you what I do. I can tell you what I can do. I can tell you what I've done. I can tell you who I know. I can tell you where I've been. I can tell you what I believe, or at least what I think I believe

I don't know what it all adds up to, I never have.

I've never known what I wanted to be when I grew up. I still don't and I'm well past grown.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

So, I outlasted two groups of friends and was waiting to outlast the last group when Jen squares herself in front of me and asks "Do you want a shot?"

I had been nursing a beer, I really didn't feel like drinking so I really wasn't but I really didn't feel like going home, so I wasn't. I did however, want to try a full shot of Patron Silver.

"How much is a shot of Patron Silver?" I asked

"It doesn't matter because I'm buying it. Is that what you want?"

"I want to know how much it is."

"I'm not telling you. Is that what you want?"

I wanted to argue with her. I wanted to truly know the price no matter who was paying for it but I knew on that night I wasn't going to be told.

"Sure" I said and then watched her ice and then pour a double shot of high priced tequila. She sat it in front of me and I let out a small sigh. I hadn't calculated for a double shot, I was only certain a single shot would keep me upright and barf free so there was a delay while I assessed the damage a double shot was going to do.

"Drink it! …before it gets warm" I was told, first as a command but then feigned concern, after I shot her a look, just as I just determined that I could handle twice the amount of hard liquor as I had previous calculated. I drank it down and looked her in the eye as I placed the quickly emptied glass in front of her. She just shook her head as Danielle told me I was crazy.

After another beer, it was just me and one other friend. He asked what was next. I told him I didn't really care, he could choose but he had no suggestion. I suggested whiskey sours as I explained it's an old man's drink. He didn't care. I asked Jen for two and as she served them she placed a glass of ice water next to my drink and asked it the shot did me in. I told her it did and explained that I really wasn't expecting a double shot. My longest lasting friend of the night then said "I'll take 'Who knows Tim' for $200 dollars, Alex"

My friend's a perceptive smartass.
I know folks disagree with me and I think it's cool that Long Days comes right out and says my working definition of a writer is horseshit. It's cool because it shows a certain amount of trust.

But I dunno.

I don't see the brilliance and I'm not trying to be modest and I'm not looking for compliments or praise.

Technically, by definition, I'm a writer and granted some of my apprehension to take on the label as 'writer' is because there would be added pressure to perform, even if only in my own head. So, the definition lover in me knows that it is indeed all horseshit that I do subscribe to the idea that a writer is more than just one who writes, that there is an artistry to it, that there needs to be at least a passion for writing to be called a writer.

A writer afterall is merely one who writes, period, this I know - but I disagree.

I think part of the reason I disavow being a writer is because I don't see what I do here is on level as those writers I read. There is no real effort contain in this space. I rarely rewrite anything. Everything here is a first draft finished project. To call myself a writer would be disrespectful to the writers I respect, true wordsmiths who forge the written word.

This here is all just me talking to myself, this is all the dialog; replaying of events; and retelling of stories that has always happened within my head since I can remember. I remember a lot in the form of written words, when I memorize things, I memorize them as though they were written on a page. I was asked what somebody's name was the other day and I couldn't remember but I said that it was short, it had four letters, a moment later I said Eric.

All of this is just a transcribed copy of the noise in my head.

I wouldn't label the monks that spent their whole lives making copies of the ancient texts as writers either.

Long Days is correct, I am I writer but I disagree.

Friday, October 07, 2005

So, I read stuff and wrote stuff and I'm without my camera so I can't shot stuff even though at lunch there was an attractive young lady wearing nothing but black bikini bottoms and body makeup in protest of the treatment of circus animals because, after all, the circus is in town.

I did some work. I went to lunch where at least six people who usually don't see me at my lunch place, saw me. A solute to all you folks that saw me, that is what I do at lunch especially on Fridays. Fortunately, they were all doing exactly the same, whatever that may be.

I came back from lunch and found an envelope with cash in it. Monetary compensation for a favor preformed over a week ago. And now here I sit waiting for the clock to do what clocks do only I wish it was doing it a whole lot faster.
You are a

Social Moderate
(50% permissive)

and an...

Economic Moderate
(41% permissive)

You are best described as a:


Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test


I had a high school English teacher who gave an assignment to write a book report on any book of our choosing. His goal was to get us to read. He said that he didn't care what we read because if we got into the habit of reading eventually we would want to read something worth reading. He was asked his believe held true for works of pornography as well. He said it did, he expounded that eventually you would tire of it and read something else.

He fielded a few other questions about books that could be chosen and it basically worked out that if you could write a report about it, the book would qualify.

I did mine on an issue of the She-Hulk comic book. I think I disappointed him, he gave me a B.

holy shit! some titles

I open pickle jar too

So, I was setting mouse traps at the owner's house and a mutual friend of ours was there.

"What about the glue traps?" the mutual friend inquired.

"Then you have a live mouse to deal with and..."

"I know. I know." she said as she started to squirm and wanted to quickly end the conversation.

Then why did you ask?

"There are some at the office, too" the owner told me.

"Yeah, I know. I think some are actually living in that corner of my office where I throw all that old computer stuff I don't want"

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"No, not really, at first when things are all quiet and you catch something moving from the corner of your eye, it startles you but once you know, it's no big deal."

We'll see

I follow the links for the most part, at the very least I'll run the cursor over the link so my browser will tell me where it goes. National Novel Writing Month was one such link.

I thought the premise was interesting, I wished them luck. "Good luck" I said.

Then I thought "50,000 words, in one month, that's a lot" almost dauntingly so but then I thought "you really have no idea how much 50,000 is" and I didn't. So I researched it and found out that it is a lot but not a lot a lot. I thought it was doable for a writer if there was an inkling of inspiration.

"Good luck to them" I thought again only now without dismay at the 50K

Then I made mention of my former ignorance of 50,000 words. And, then some folks said

you can

do it

I thought "Yeah, I could. I could write 50,000 words in one month but I'm not a writer."

But the deal is National Novel Writing Month isn't really for serious writers

Can anyone participate in NaNoWriMo?
No. People who take their writing (and themselves) very seriously should probably go elsewhere. Everyone else, though, is warmly welcomed.

NaNoWriMo is all about the magical power of deadlines. Give someone a goal and a goal-minded community and miracles are bound to happen. Pies will be eaten at amazing rates. Alfalfa will be harvested like never before. And novels will be written in a month.

Lisa restated "that at least everyone has one story in them"

I replied that I don't know what my one story is

And then I thought isn't that what the whole National Novel Writing Month is all about, giving folks a reason to think about their story (or stories) and giving them a reason and a deadline to write them.

So, I signed up, under an alias. Most likely I lessen their winners percentage.

So, I have until the end of the month to figure out a story an then the month of November to write it.

I can almost guarantee that there will be a lot of too's and so's in it.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Damn Mice

We were short on time. She needed supplies for a school project and she needed them today. I was sitting at the bar when she called. I calculated that if the store closed at nine at night we would be alright. If it closed at 8:30, we would be screwed.

We rushed to the store and got there at 8:30, they close at nine. She was still in her soccer uniform, she's number 21. After we gathered most of what we needed she told me to look at her feet. On the left foot was a gold flip flop and on the right was a yellow chinese slipper.

I told her they kinda matched.

I may have lied.
Just to warn you, tomorrow there will most likely be no grand stories of fantastic adventures like I usually provide in this space for tonight I have to set mouse traps and update a webpage, particularly a web page for a house numbered 88.

(you may have guessed that this is just a post to remind me to do stuff)
I have no control over some things

The dung heap is kept by the large industrial fan, please shovel carefully

The shoveler likes to shovel without looking.

I look because the shoveler doesn't.

"More to the left" I suggest, but my suggestion goes unheeded.

There are times I don't know how the shoveler misses the fan.

I duck and look away, expecting the worse but always, so far, I've felt nothing but breeze

...but I still wish they would shovel away from the fan

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

She asked if it would be alright if she sat next to me. I said it would be as long it wasn't a lengthy stay.

She had just finished her shift and instead of quickly heading out the front door as is her normal fashion, she sat next to me which immediately made certain males envious. And then she bought me a beer. I'm sure I was hated by some of the other patrons and the thought of that made me smile.

Of all the times I've seen her shift end, I've only seen her sit on this side of the bar twice. One time was with another female bartender, they were waiting on a third to go out on the town, the other time, she was sitting to some regular's right, some regular for whom she also bought a shot. That regular was me. This time she was on my left.

I played it cool. And then my cell phone rang.

fifty grand

So, I was listening to the radio

and simply wasting time because it seemed like a rather long day

and I wondered what 50,000 words would look like

I've never done any writing so I've never had to produce a paper with a certain word count

I've never been interested in word counts before

I have been interested in the size of a book because I don't like 'em too big. I like them normal paperback size or their hard cover equivalent. I like the hard covers better if I'm reading at home. If I'm out and about - paper back.

Anyway, I don't know nothing about no word count. So, I know Word has a word count feature so I only had to get my hands on some text. And ya know what? I type a lot of crap from time to time and put it up on a blog. And this blog has an archive feature that will group a month's worth of posts together. And I know how to cut and paste and I did such to a month's worth of posts into a Word document and I further had Word count the words for me.

I counted some early months because it was my feeling that those months had more words and it turns out I typed about 18,000 to 19,000 words per month. And that was just me being a spaz. I was surprised.

I counted Feb 04 and Mar 04 in case you were wondering.

counting this line there are 274 words in this post. If I wrote this much 182 times more I would have 50,000 words.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Pontiac by Fred Eaglesmith


It's a Pontiac
It's a '63 Stratochief with a three on the tree
And it belongs to me
And my baby

Her and me
We go driving down old highway seventeen
She puts on the radio
Rolls down the window
Lays her head back
It's a Pontiac

It's a Pontiac

It ain't got no wild horses painted on the side
And the objects in the mirror are precisely their own size
It's got a chrome Indian in front of the door
Might be an Apache or an Arapaho
Or a Pontiac


There was an incident last night
At seventeen and third
It all happened so fast nobody's really sure
But somebody held the rifle, somebody held the sack
And as fast as they were there
Well they were gone just like that

In a Pontiac

The anti-freeze is boiling and the oil pressure's low
And the pedal's to the metal and it's as fast as it can go
And the stain on her shoulder it's getting darker you know
And the radio keep blasting out the facts

It's a Pontiac

It's a Pontiac

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Monday, October 03, 2005

I was born on a Tuesday

This year my birthday is on a Tuesday

So, Lisa had a link regarding birthdays and seeing how my birthday is in eight days I used the link.

I was born on a Tuesday

My birth tree is

Rowan, the Sensitivity

Full of charm, cheerful, gifted, without egoism, likes to draw attention, loves life, motion, unrest and even complications, is both dependent and independent, good taste, artistic, passionate, emotional, good company, does not forgive.

I like how definite that last item is - does not forgive

My Life path number is 7

A Life Path 7 person is a peaceful and affectionate soul, and by nature rather reserved and analytical. The overwhelming strength of the number 7 is reflected in the depth of thinking that is shown; you will garner knowledge from practically every source that you find. Intellectual, scientific and studious, you don't accept a premise until you have dissected the subject and arrived at you own independent conclusion. This is a very spiritual number and it often denotes a sort of spiritual wisdom that becomes apparent at a fairly early age. You need a good deal of quiet time to be with your own inner thoughts and dreams. You dislike crowds, noise and confusion. You are very thorough and complete in your work, the perfectionist who expects everyone else to be a meet a high standard of performance, too. You evaluate situations very quickly and with amazing accuracy. You rely heavily on your experiences and your intuition, rather than accepting advice from someone; your hunches usually prove to be very accurate, and knowing this, you are one who tends to follow the directions they seem to guide. It's easy for you to detect deception and recognize insincere people. You aren't one to have a wide circle of friends, but once you accept someone as a friend, it's for life. You really aren't a very social person, and your reserve is often taken to be aloofness. Actually, it's not that at all, but merely a cover up for your basic feeling of insecurity. You actually like being alone, away from the hustle and bustle of modern life. In many ways, you would have fit in better in much earlier times when the pace of life was less hectic.
In the most negative use of the 7 energies, you can become very pessimistic, lackadaisical, quarrelsome, and secretive. A Life Path 7 individual who is not living life fully and gaining through experiences, is a hard person to live with because of a serious lack of consideration and because there is such a negative attitude. The negative 7 is very selfish and spoiled. If you have any of the negative traits they are very difficult to get rid of because you tend to feel that the world really does owe you a living or in some way is not being fairly treated. Fortunately, the negative 7 is not the typical 7, at least not without some mitigating positive traits. This number is one that seems to have some major shifts from highs to lows. Stability in feelings may be elusive for you.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

We ended up by ourselves in the crowded room. Dianne knew me and I knew Dianne due to a mutual friend. Uncharacteristically, I asked Dianne for a hug. The request surprised her, after all it was an odd request from me, so I added "Just a small one."

She leaned in with her arms spread, at first at a distance, just leaning towards me so just the front of our shoulders would touch, but then she took a step into the embrace. As our whole bodies came into as much contact as was possible, I got aroused. I wondered if she knew.

After a moment I took a half step back mainly to see if she would follow or release our bond, she followed to keep contact. I took another step back and towards the side and she followed again, so I repeat my actions. It was like a slow dance to the music of our connected souls. My temperature started to rise and I could feel the sweat start to form on my back. I could feel the droplets connect in the indentation in the middle and start to roll downward. I wondered if she could notice. I wondered if some of the heat I felt was coming from her.

I couldn't see her eyes because of the nature of our embrace, my chin was over her left shoulder and hers over mine.

I stopped our dance and as we were still for a moment I slide my hands to the outside of her hips and took a step backwards, holding her at a distance. I looked her in her eyes. She looked back. I smiled. She smiled back and then fanned herself with her opened left hand and she softly said wow.

Then, I just walked away.

I was just seeing how far she would let me go. She was just seeing how far I would.

It was all a dream except for the perspiration on my back. I don't know any Dianne's.