Monday, December 21, 2009

State of the Union: If Given by a Certain Average Mom

State of the Union: If Given by a Certain Average Mom


Madam Speaker, Vice President Winfrey, Members of Congress, distinguished guests, family, friends, fellow citizens, and the cast of The Office--(thanks for coming, by the way, guys)--
One year has passed since I first stood before you at this podium, having given of myself in the best way I know how: maternally. In that time, my family has been tested in ways none of us could have imagined. We faced many tough decisions: to medicate or not medicate, rising lack of fluidity in our household budget, the health and welfare of our family--notwithstanding periods of less than stellar amounts of sanity.
These issues are still up for vigorous debate, though, it's fair to say we've answered the call. We, these Mothers of our Fair Country, have saddled up and taken the reins…
It took a good twelve months to get our heads wrapped around the cluster-fuck we’ve inherited from previous administrations, but we now believe we’re on the right track.
History will record that amid our differences we acted with purpose, and together we showed the world the power and resilience of familial self-government. All of us were sent to Washington to carry out the people's business. That is the purpose of this body. It is the meaning of our oath. It remains our charge to keep. In the coming years, let us show our fellow Americans that we recognize our responsibilities and are determined to meet them. Let us show them that Democrats and Republicans--er, typical and non-neurotypical brains alike, can compete for votes and cooperate for positive results at the same time.
We've made good progress. Yet we have unfinished business before us, and the American people expect us to get it done. Wages are down and so are prices for food and gas. At kitchen tables across our country, there is a concern about our economic future. In the long run, Americans can be confident about our economic growth, but in the short run, we can all see that we’re basically…screwed.
But, wait! Last week, my administration reached agreement with Speaker Kathy Griffin and Republican Leader Kate Gosselin on a robust growth package that includes tax relief for individuals and families and incentives for business investment. The temptation will be to load up the bill like a grocery cart on payday. That would delay it or derail it, and neither option is acceptable.
We have work to do on taxes. Some in Washington argue for the need to raise taxes. Try explaining that to 116 million American taxpayers who will see their taxes rise by an average of $1,800--half of which are already unemployed. Others have said they would personally be happy to pay higher taxes. I welcome their enthusiasm. I am pleased to report that the IRS accepts both checks and money orders; just like the makers of the Snuggie, which keeps you warm from head to toe, while keeping your hands free. I highly recommend it, we’ve got two in our house.
Most Americans think their taxes are high enough. With all the other pressures on their finances, American families should not have to worry about the federal government taking a bigger bite out of their paychecks. They already feel like they’re bent over the living room table with someone standing behind them, lubed up and ready for penetration. Members of the Congress should know, if any bill raising taxes reaches my desk, I will veto it.
Next week, I'll send you a budget that terminates or substantially reduces 151 wasteful or bloated programs, and the complete obliteration of unnecessary things like golf courses, all military spending, anything involving Pokemon, and any funding for space exploration. Screw outer space, we’ve got enough to worry about right here on Earth. American families have to balance their budgets; so should their government. If it’s not a necessity, it’s outa’ there.
With the pull-out of all troops, and cease and desist of all monies previously tied up in vacuous wars and NASA research, our budget is doable. We’ve adopted the strategies of every budget-wise mother in America: We’ll shop on double coupon day and never resist a buy one, get one free offer.
As for the golf courses, that’s just common sense; too much land being wasted on a stupid sport. Surely we can use it for something else. And Pokemon? Well, I admit, it’s a personal issue. That’s one evil yellow critter, and our kids don’t need to be buying into that kind of propaganda. So, this time, if you send me an appropriations bill that contains anything more than five hundred words, I'll send it back to you with my veto. Choose your words and needs carefully, my friends in congress. Brevity is what we’re looking for.
Our shared responsibilities extend beyond matters of taxes and spending. It's been a difficult time for many American families and, by taking these steps, we can help more of them keep their homes. To build a future of quality health care, we must trust patients and doctors to make medical decisions and empower them with better information and better options. We share a common goal: making affordable health care available to all Americans, not just the ones without ethnic sounding surnames, or people who can afford to pay cash for their yearly mammograms and colonoscopies.
On education, we must trust students to learn, if given the chance, and empower parents to demand results from our schools. In neighborhoods across our country, there are boys and girls with dreams. And a decent education is their only hope of achieving them. This does not include, however the dream of a fourteen year old boy to stick it to his hot teacher. Tenure be gone--teachers will stay or go based on job performance. And, screw the athletic programs involving football, baseball and any other ball,--I think we’ve learned a bit or two from the Michael Vick’s and Tiger Wood’s in our midst. Let’s concentrate on the arts: music, literary and performing. In this day and age of the reality show, let us prepare our youngsters for a collective future involving more theater, impromptu musical numbers, and a world where art hangs in public toilets, not used jizz- receptacles.
In years previous, lawmakers came together to pass the No Child Left Behind Act, and today no one can deny its results: it blew the big one. Now we must work together to increase accountability, reduce the number of high school dropouts, provide extra help for struggling schools and provide students with disabilities the same opportunities their ‘normal’ fellow students already receive. We owe it to America's children: ALL OF THEM.
On trade, we must trust American workers to provide us with what we need, rather than get our goods and services all over the world. If it’s not labeled "Made in the USA", we don’t want it. Period. If we can’t make it ourselves, we don’t need it. Last week, I had to call tech support because my laptop was on the fritz, and I spent a good three hours on the phone with a call center representative, in a country I can’t even pronounce. Surely we’ve got some people closer to home that can deal with my need to order a new keypad…
To build a future of energy security, we must trust in the creative genius of American researchers and entrepreneurs and empower them to pioneer a new generation of clean energy technology. No more gobbling up oil from other countries, requiring such shady quid-pro-quo’s as to taint our moral and civil obligations. Our security, our prosperity and our environment all require reducing our dependence on oil consumption. If we have to go back to the days of carts and horses, so be it. We’ve squandered as much of the earth’s natural resources than reason will allow. Let’s bring it down to basics, people. The United States is committed to strengthening our energy security and confronting global climate change, and the best way to meet these goals is for America to continue leading the way toward the development of cleaner and more energy-efficient technology.
On matters of life and science, we must trust in the innovative spirit of medical researchers and empower them to discover new treatments without regard to moral boundaries. Cloning and stem cell research, let’s get ‘er done. All in, baby.
On matters of justice, we must stop relying so much in the wisdom of our founding fathers, and recognize that when the Constitution was written, it was written by a group that didn’t include women or minorities. How about adopting a smidgen of common sense with regard to judicial matters? --and get rid of judges who follow the letter of the law, and not the spirit of it.
Screw it, let’s toss out the Constitution altogether, and write ourselves up something new. Something fresh… something less antiquated, perhaps? As an example, if ‘the right to bear arms’ meant any idiot with a pulse could own a weapon, then it’s clear automatic assault rifles weren’t in existence when the founders jotted down their thoughts. So, in the spirit of common sense, how about we only allow officers of the law to own guns? Hunters, you ask? What about them? It’s called the compound bow, and it’s pretty effective. We got ourselves three doe and a buck in my household last season, so our freezers are pretty well-stocked. Let skill be the law of the land with regard to hunting; not a case of Bud Light, a rifle, and a bucketful of ammunition. As you can see, I’m probably no friend of PETA, but I have a rather sensible ideology with regard to the circle of life and food chain. The rule in my house is, you kill it, you eat it.
Now, let’s talk about the pursuit of happiness for a moment. America, being the ultimate melting pot, is rife with faith-based churches, organizations and operations. They will no longer, however, run roughshod over the law. Starting tomorrow, in every state in the union, every person, man or woman, will be able to marry who they wish, when they wish, however they wish. If you don’t like it, tough shit. I’m pretty sure you won’t be invited anyway.
And, while I’m sure the Pope is a nice guy, governmental investigation into priests with grabby hands will immediately commence. Since the Catholic church hasn’t even remotely addressed the taint of deviant church hierarchy, it’s an issue the now highly Maternal United States Government is happy to check into.
Tonight, the armies of compassion will begin the march we should have begun long ago. But, I suppose that is due to the fact that, up until recent years, Congress and the White House have been saturated with a little too much testosterone and not enough estrogen. That glaring error in accounting has recently been corrected, so I expect good things to follow. We certainly couldn’t do any worse than the Bush Administration did for eight years, could we, girls?
Another pressing challenge is immigration. So, here’s the deal on that. If you can make it here--whether by boat, plane, train or cheap Dollar-Store inner tube-- you’ll be welcomed in. That’s how it was in the day of the pilgrims, and that’s how it will be today. As long as you pay your taxes and abide by the laws, it’s all good. If, however, your intent is nefarious, expect to be sent back from whence you came. It’s pretty simple.
This will take pressure off the border and allow law enforcement to concentrate on those who mean us harm--like Hollywood producers, insurance companies, the KKK, and religious extremists.
It has long been held that the business of our nation here at home, and the building of a prosperous future for our citizens, depends on confronting enemies abroad and advancing liberty in troubled regions of the world. Bullshit. It is not the business of government, social or moral, to deal with other countries. That’s what charity organizations are for. We will no longer be the bully on the playground, nor the proverbial ATM for countries in need.
It is up to the people of our fine country to choose to help, if and when they can. So, if you’re overly interested in Afghanistan, China, or Iran, pack a bag and head over to do whatever you feel necessary, though the government will no longer fund such endeavors, militarily or otherwise. But, if your heart speaks to you in a way that urges you to make a difference in the lives of others in far away nations, hop on a plane and make yourself right with your God, Jehovah, Buddah, or Allah; whatever your personal higher power is called. You will have the full blessing of the United States of America behind you, though funding such moral undertakings is now on you. May the force be with you.
We’ve, collectively, got enough on our plate at the moment. Today, more than half the world's food aid comes from the United States. That would be fine and dandy if our own citizens didn’t need that food right now. Such is not the case, so we will now begin living in reality, rather than the magical thinking of previous administrations.
Former foreign policy was based on a clear premise: We trusted that people, when given the chance, would choose a future of freedom and peace. Well, we’ve since learned the error of our ways. Using force to make another country fit our ideal of what their country should be didn’t work, so let’s move on, shall we? The era of the politics of fear are over; the Axis of Evil--a term coined by a previous administration, to their own detriment-- has made its intentions clear. They want us to leave them the hell alone.
On the home-front, we will continue to take every lawful and effective measure to protect our country. This is our most solemn duty. It is not our duty, however, to monitor citizen phone calls, Facebook pages or Twitter feeds. It is not the business of government to poke our noses into private lives, monitor what library books we check out, how we use our Visa cards, or who we choose to genuflect to in the privacy of our homes and churches. So, unless you’re sauntering around Times Square with a bomb strapped to your back, and a sign on your chest reading, “I’m gonna’ kill some mother-fuckers now”, we’ll pretty much leave you alone.
And, let’s just get real about nuclear armament, people. Whoever hit’s the red button first, really doesn’t matter. Once that bullet is out of the gun, we’re all up shit’s creek without a paddle. At that point, the fat lady has sung, so whether we or China or Iran have the technology, it only takes one whack-job to blow the entire wad. In this regard, all we can realistically do is hope that whack-job doesn’t exist.
America needs to step up research regarding the fight against disease and healthcare issues. Autism research, cancer research, HIV/AIDS, these and many more affect our citizens, and this is where the monies saved in other arenas will be going. What are we dying from? What is affecting us, collectively? What can we do today to ensure the betterment of the lives of our children and grandchildren? These are the questions we will address, and more funding will be appropriated for such endeavors.
The secret of our strength, the miracle of America, is that our greatness lies not in our government, but in the spirit and determination of our people. "We the people." I think that’s something the founding fathers and I agree on. We are the people, and this great and noble nation was built on the liberty that resides in the hearts of all men and women. By trusting the people, succeeding generations transformed our fragile young democracy into the most powerful nation on earth and a beacon of hope for millions.
Then we fucked up, got greedy and started pushing people around. But no more.
So tonight, with confidence in freedom's power and trust in the people, let us set forth to do their business. God bless America… no wait. Let’s begin again, ripping the veil of religion and the morality of some from the faces of our citizens. No, tonight God Bless America will forever become---WE BLESS AMERICA.
Peace out.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Pain in my Ass

Three nights ago, I awakened at 3:38 a.m., feeling like something untoward had happened to my lower orifice while I slumbered; possibly a gang rape. Finger-like waves of nausea and sharp pains filtered from my poopie hatch, up through my innards.

Instantly, I knew what I was dealing with. I also knew I was screwed, because I did not have the one and only item that would take care of the situation.

Hemorrhoid cream.

I knew Mom would have some, but the idea of crawling the few hundred yards from my house, up the hill, past the barn, to her back porch, where surely I could scream loud enough to alert someone--let’s just say I knew I’d die of agony first.

I could barely breathe, never mind move.

During the delivery of my firstborn son, I’d acquired a souvenir that would hang about long after Jake was weaned from the bottle. In fact, my little friends--and notice that word is plural--continue to accompany me on my travels and travails in life; a tiny bunch of deflated mini-grapes just inside my anus, like a dormant volcano. Most of the time they rested, and I didn’t even know they were there.

Until they became angry.

I don’t think the human body is meant to withstand a three hour pushing session. I’m not talking about three hours of labor. I’m talking about the part of labor where your knees are up by your ears, and you’ve got a mother and a mother-in-law, each holding back a leg, screaming, “Push! Push! You’re almost there!”

Think of it as taking a three hour shit. You’re bound to come away from the bowl a bit drained, and your lower crevice won’t be feeling, generally speaking, all that delighted to be there.

As I laid on my bed in the wee hours, I wondered if there was anything I could do to take the pain away, because in two hours, I’d have to get up, get two children dressed, and drive twenty minutes to school. That, I thought, might be a tad difficult if I was just having trouble breathing.

I rolled out of the bed and walked, hunched over, to the bathroom, and immediately knew I was going to faint.

I’m a fainter. I guess it’s the body’s way of shutting off when something assaultive happens, but since I was a kid, I’ve been a fainter, so I’m quite familiar with the warning signs. Instant nausea, impaired vision and the feeling of impending death, all prior to lights out. I’ve woken up on the floor of the bathroom twice, one of those times managing to break my glasses in half.

What I did not want to do was faint, hit my head on something, and become unconscious while the rest of the members of my household gently slumbered.

I fell back on the bed, stretched my neck toward the fan, broke out in a flop sweat and thought I might vomit. Thinking positioning might help, I writhed around quietly, trying not to wake anyone, ending up in a position similar to the downward dog yoga position.

By the time the clock showed ten minutes had passed--though it felt like six weeks--the pain abated slightly and my mind cleared enough to embark on a plan of action.

Hemorrhoid cream supposedly shrinks painful swelling, so what did I have at my disposal that might produce a similar effect?

Ice, I thought. Ice, might help with swelling, and didn’t ice also numb things?

I briefly thought of shuffling out to the yard, where a snow storm was in full swing, and dropping my Tweety-Bird flannel pajama pants, spreading my butt cheeks and falling ass-first onto a pile of snow. It sounded like bliss, but I was certain I wouldn’t make it that far.

Getting to the refrigerator seemed like trekking through the Outback, and when I opened the freezer, I realized I had no ice. What I did have, were the freezer blocks, shaped like a soccer ball and a football, that I used for my children’s lunchboxes. For a brief moment, the idea of shoving a frozen soccer ball up my butt, then rinsing it and putting it in Jake’s lunchbox seemed slightly appealing in an ironically, sadistic way. And, believe you me, if it had been my only option, Jake would unknowingly be taking a frozen soccer ball formerly shoved into my ass to lunch that day.

After I’d washed it, of course. What he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.

My eyes passed over the vegetables, and I knew my next choice was a bag of frozen peas--but, what would I cook for dinner with the ham and potatoes? I didn’t think I could straddle my dinner, then rinse and eat it, as if nothing untoward had happened in the process.

Then I saw it. The long object seemed just right for the job--a lime green lid to a sports cup attached to a protruding six inch dowel-like rod extending from the screw-on lid, meant to keep the drink cup cool for hours.

It looked like a frozen phallus attached to a convenient handle.

Bingo! We have a winner!

As I shuffled back to the safety of my dark bedroom, I noticed it said Cool-Aids on the side.


So, picture this. I’ve got one knee against my bed for support--oh yeah, my pants are down around my ankles--and the other knee bent and hiked up sideways. Kind of like a dog peeing on a fire hydrant. I’m sort of leaning the frozen object into my rectum, but only slightly. There was no insertion.

I want that on record.

Then I pull my undies back up, to keep the frosty item in place, or at least as close to the target area as possible. Actually, I just ended up riding it like a horse, and my entire va-jay-jay and pucker took only a few seconds to become non-existent.

Blissfully numb.

I lowered my body to the bed and rolled on my side, the frozen thing jutting out behind me, straining my p.j. bottoms. I imagined I looked like someone with an erection protruding from their derrière.

The ice worked, and I feel asleep, waking only when the alarm rang. For a minute, I thought it had all been a bad dream, until I stood and the now lukewarm, formerly frozen lid-slash-frozen-phallus fell down my pant leg and ended up on the floor next to the bed.

I got through my morning ritual in only minimal pain, making it to the store after dropping the kids off, and purchased an armload of items that would take care of the situation. All generic, by the way. I don’t buy brand names if there are generics available.

That’s a fool’s game.



Since writing this, I’ve received quite a few suggestions with regard to hemorrhoids. I’m happy to entertain any and all ideas, including homeopathic, drug-related, Grannie’s cure-all’s, and folk remedies.

You can also post a comment here on the blog.

*Recently, I was told a clove of garlic works; just insert it up the chute. Supposedly, it will keep the dog’s nose out of my backside, as well.

Good to know.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Where Everybody Knows You're Gay...

I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating:

Kat Nove is a genius; also she's the funniest person alive, second only to David Sedaris. At some point, she and I plan to saddle up our gays and head out on a road trip. The fact that one of us needs to become rich and/or famous first figures into the equation, but as soon as that happens, we'll rent some sort of convertible car, and head out like Thelma and Louise. Only we'll have our favorite boys to accompany us; boys who won't come near us with their penises. My favorite kind of boys, on most days.

If you're not reading her blog, you're an idiot. Okay, so that's harsh. You're not getting the most out of the life you are living if you aren't reading her blog. I've put a link below; read the blog 'Where Everybody knows...'

Take a look at the fabulous song parody she's written. Sing along as you read, but be sure to sing to the tune of the song from CHEERS 'Where Everybody Knows Your Name'.

Where Everybody Knows You're Gay

Making your way past bigots today
Takes everything you’ve got
Taking a break from homophobes
And remembering that you’re hot
Isn’t it great to be a gay?

All those nights when you get in fights
Because you sometimes swish
It’s the way of nature
But at times you have to wish
They’d get a life and leave you alone
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows you’re gay
And they’re always up for play
You want to be where you can see
Leather chaps, penis straws and brie
You want to be where everybody knows you’re gay.

Roll out of bed, Mr. Cockster is dead
The morning’s looking bleak
Your shrink is running for Congress
To vote against you freaks
And your boyfriend wants to date a girl.

Be glad there’s one place in the world
Where everybody knows you’re gay
And they’re fans of Tina Fey
You want to go where hot guys know
Who gives the best bee jay
You want to go where everybody knows you’re gay.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Global Swarming TRAILER

Watch with shock and awe! I promise you won't be disappointed.

Oh, and if you wish to partake of the book and/or audio downloads:

Friday, October 9, 2009

Macy's Wait

Well, we are almost finished with our newest short film project, Macy's Wait, about a young man waiting for that 'negative' call during the horror show we like to remember as the mid-1980's. You know, that time when a Mr. Reagan was in office and those in his administration referred to AIDS as the 'gay plague' when joking amongst themselves at press conferences, about three years BEFORE the big guy even said the word out loud.

Yeah, that shining beacon of a moment on a shit-storm of a hill.

Here's a picture of my lead, Eli Dukes.

got zombies?

My lovely writer friends Kat Nove and Greg Crites have written a delicious zombie tale called Global Swarming.

Ok, so the first treat you're privy to on listening to Global Swarming, other than that hot beat, are the vocal styling’s of Greg Crites, who frankly sounds like a cross between a pirate with a three pack a day habit, and the guy who services my A/C.

Very accessible, very sexy, very...'I want to hear more but am concerned about the fact that his gravelly voice is turning me on slightly and in general I'm not even partial to men.' But that mix of hot music and husky voice is apparently a recipe for something naughty, or so my girly parts seem to be whispering.

So I guess that's a bonus, except that for the duration of Chapter One, a hog's carcass is being dismembered and that frightening mix of naughty and nasty might be the reason I'll have double therapy sessions next week.

But, I let go and get into the moment, because this is a Zombie story so 'Something Inappropriately Wicked This Way Comes' is, after all, expected.

Thor and Lilly are getting a divorce. When Lilly's lawyer informs Thor that she wants half of the butcher shop, he's none too pleased about it, continuing to hack away at the animal carcass on the slab in front of him.

Lilly, herself, is what my Nanna used to call her sister--'real heavy furniture'. I know this because I was privileged enough to read subsequent chapters of this story. She's a cumulous cloud of sarcasm, and together she and Thor are the perfect storm.

Check it out. Global Swarming is one guilty pleasure that can be afforded in our ever-constricting economy.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Spam and Junk/Joke E-mails

I don't normally open junk e-mails. You know the ones your grannie sends you-jokes only she thinks are funny, or letters from someone supposedly in Mumbai wanting you to help them with a money issue. Something like:

"Before I became Ill, I kept $46.5 million in a long-term deposit account in a security company. Presently, I am in hospital where I have been undergoing treatment for esophageal cancer. I have lost my ability to talk and my doctors have told me that I have only a few months to live. It is my last wish to see this money distributed to charity organizations"...

Or those chain mail things that you simply MUST respond to, and forward to fifty of your friends or you will die.

Anyway, yesterday I opened one, and enjoyed the hell out of it. I have no idea who the original author was, but I thought I'd share...


My flight was being served by an obviously gay flight attendant, who seemed to put everyone in a good mood as he served us food and drinks.

As the plane prepared to descend, he came swishing down the aisle and told us that "Captain Marvey has asked me to announce that he'll be landing the big, scary plane shortly. So, lovely people, if you could just put your trays up, that would be super."

On his trip back up the aisle, he noticed this well-dressed and rather Arabic looking Woman hadn't moved a muscle.

"'Perhaps you didn't hear me over those big brute engines, but I asked you to raise your trazy-poo, so the main man can pitty-pat us on the ground.'

She calmly turned her head and said, "In my country, I am called a Princess. And I take orders from no one."

To which (I swear) the flight attendant replied, without missing a beat, "'Well, sweet-cheeks, in my country, I'm called a Queen, so I outrank you. So put your fucking tray up, bitch."

Monday, August 24, 2009

Teen Writing for Teens that's how it should be done!

Win a signed copy of Break by Hannah Moskowitz

Friday, August 21, 2009

The Pen is My Sword

My mother tells me when I was a shy little girl in kindergarten, I wrote a story about a gumball machine, apparently comparing the little round balls of varying colors to people in the world. I'd share the poem with you, but my mother wasn't exactly the type of parent who kept those kinds of things. No little shoebox of priceless memories or scrapbooks full of photos for her. I'm guessing she read it, smiled, then rolled something into the tiny piece of paper and smoked it.

It was the 70's, after all.

I should note, my mother is the type of mother who would, years later, wake me with a three a.m. phone call, "I just had the best idea for a porn movie!!" What followed was a three hour trip to a local store the next day, where I was horrified to find the toy dolls made for young girls now look suspiciously like whores. Out of this shopping adventure came a three page script for a movie that could only be described as Barbie-Porn.

Some years after the gumball poem but prior to the porn, I was a ten year old Catholic School girl. Each week we were required to check something out from the library, making sure to carry the book to every class in case we had free time that period. We had to read it, as Sister Eugenia would occasionally give us a pop quiz, and unfortunately this particular nun was familiar with the entire collection in the small library.

I checked out The Diary of Anne Frank. It made a huge impact on me, because I related to her. I was about her age. I could be her. I could rage against the horrors of a life lived in secret. I, too, could be remembered long after I was gone.

I asked for and was given a diary to record my own juvenile thoughts. My entries were decidedly less awe-inspiring than Anne's.

July 9, 1978

Dear Diary,
We went on vacation and it was nice, except there was a strange smell in the VW van the entire trip from something Mom and Dad were smoking. She said they were ‘herbs'.

(note to self: look up the definition of herbs)

At the Grand Canyon I was surprised that the railing to keep you from falling was so small. Resi ran right up and swung from it, but I stayed back. I don't know why but suddenly I thought one of my family members might push me over the edge. Could that happen? I don't think any of them are THAT crazy, but the idea would not leave my head, so I stayed back while they all looked.

(p.s. I do not trust them.)

Then we went back to the campground and while Mom and Dad took a nap, Resi and I played with two brothers named Nick and Roger. Roger asked me if I knew what a ‘blow job' was.

(note to self: Ask Mom what a blow job is.)

July 12, 1978

My parents are horrible, horrible people. I must be adopted!!! Resi asked Dad what a blow job was and he said "What the hell?" and his face got all red and he pulled the VW van over and got out. I hid under my pillow in the back seat and cried, so Mom told me and Resi what it was. My parents are GROSS!! She said when two people love each other, they do certain things. I said "Gross things..." and she said, "Come back and tell me how you feel about it when you're thirty." I told her she was going to hell and so was Dad. Resi just asked if she brushed her teeth after. My sister is so stupid. I hate my family!!!!!!!!!!! ...And I am stuck in this van with them for three more days.

Then came high school and a plethora of very unmemorable material which could only qualify as melodrama. Sappy, unrequited love story type of stuff that now would cause my lunch to take a sudden u-turn, heading back from whence it came. I am often reminded of that writing when I talk to my Nanna, because she's always watching something or other on Lifetime Television for Women.

Next came the dark period. I cannot recall what these stories were about either, except to say that after reading some of them, my father had one comment. "Jennifer, must everything you write be so... maudlin?"

I had to look up maudlin, and thus began another unfortunate chapter in my writing life. My obsession with the dictionary and thesaurus.

….which spawned my poetry phase.

It was not pretty, but in my defense, I thought everything was supposed to rhyme.

As I matured, I began paying attention to the world around me. I started to listen.

This is where my interest in characters developed. Stories do not move me as much as the people in them do. How they speak, what they say, what they aren't saying. I became obsessed with the news, memorizing banter and rewriting it in my head, in an effort to make it more entertaining.


"I'm Wolf Blitzer and you're here in the CNN news room where we've got breaking news to report. We are getting information that a young girl has fallen into the basin of the Grand Canyon. As you can see on our live feed, there is a helicopter flying over the site and our own Anderson Cooper is at the scene. Anderson, what you are seeing?"

"Yeah, Wolf, I'm here in Arizona and if you look behind me you'll see... well the side of a building, actually. We are some seven miles from where a young girl has apparently fallen five thousand feet below the rim, into the basin of the canyon. Canyon View Information Plaza is the parks' visitor facility where the press has been cordoned off and we are awaiting news from the recovery teams."

"What a horrible, horrible tragedy. Anderson, thanks for that... Now we've got our own Sanjay Gupta, another member of the best news team on television to help us with this. Sanjay, what can you tell us about a body that might fall some five thousand feet? What kinds of injuries would we expect to find?"

"Well, Wolf, with a fall from that distance, the better question is what injuries wouldn't we expect to find. If you look at this mock up I've got here, you'll see that the skull, which protects the human brain, is not made to withstand a fall of this kind. It is probably safe to assume this is a recovery effort, at best. What they'll be looking for are small pieces, rather than large ones. Think of a watermelon falling from a ninety story building, and you'll get a clearer idea of what we're dealing with here. On a positive note, it's likely somewhere after falling but prior to landing, one would have a heart attack. Death would be quick... in either case."


"Yes, Wolf, I'd say instantaneous."

"Thanks, Sanjay, for that. Sanjay Gupta, MD. And now we turn to Rob Marciano with a look at the weather these recovery teams will be dealing with. Rob, how's it looking out there?"

"Wolf, unfortunately Mother Nature is brewing up a nasty storm directly over the Grand Canyon right now. Satellite imaging shows the center of this unprecedented weather event will really start pounding the area in about forty-five minutes. So, whatever they're scraping up from that basin... they'd better make it quick. Storms in this area don't usually spur tornadoes, so this will be one for the record books, folks. I don't think I have to tell you what a mess it could be. Think of the large cylinder of wind and rain dipping into that basin and churning the whole canyon bed into something that might resemble the contents of a Cuisinart. Messy, messy stuff... Wolf?"

"Just a bad, bad situation. Thanks Rob. Rob Marciano, CNN meteorologist and another member of the best team on television. At the top of the hour we'll join Lou Dobbs, what have you got for us tonight, Lou?"

"Thanks, Wolf. Tonight the topic is illegal immigration and this administrations' blatant inability to get things done. They are incapable of intelligent thought or action--"

"--Lou, I'm going to have to stop you there... We've got an update..."

Then came my Victorian Era. Nudged on by the writings of Oscar Wilde, I wanted to be someone who could, say, describe the fetid contents of a backed up community toilet, making it sound clever and slightly appealing. I wanted to be Oscar Wilde.

...wearing a corset, of course.

LONDON: 1892

Lady Cicely Brighton, her pale face chiseled of nobility, knocks on the door of young Julia Bourget as the maid, Miss Leaf, flutters nearby, worried her mistress will not be amused by the visit from the older woman.

"Julia, do let me in at once. I must see you." Lady Brighton kicks one of the three King Charles spaniel's that occupy the dark hallway where she impatiently waits.
When no response is heard, Lady Brighton simply opens the large oak door, entering the bedroom, Miss Leaf ringing her hands close behind. "The lady wouldn't take no for an answer, miss..."

"Never mind, Leaf. That will be all." The red-rimed eyes and mottled face color give away the fact that the young woman had been crying all night.

Miss Leaf shoots a withering look in the direction of Lady Brighton, who merely winks at the old woman as she takes her leave.

"I'm sorry for it all, Julia. But, better to learn now that he prefers a bugger up his arse before you find yourself knickers deep in nappies." Lady Brighton shudders at the inconceivable notion. "That would be tragic."

The younger woman begins to sob, pulling the antique duvet cover to her puffy eyes, finally blowing her nose into it with a great trumpet. "I will never marry, Lady Brighton! Never! It was--" Julia covers her face, unable to speak more of the tragedy of the previous night.

...of Cyril.

Lady Brighton does not even bother to hide her obvious distaste. "--unseemly... yes. Two men in any configuration is quite laborious with their large indolent hands wandering about without direction."

Julia, a mass of hysterical dry-heaving, recalls the events of the previous night. "I am sick! It was vile!"

Lady Brighton pats the young woman on the head with as much affection as she'd previously given the dogs in the hall. "Shhh now. Cyril Vane is what he is. A big poof of an actor, slightly too primped and powdered. He has his station in life. Who else will entertain us on stage but the dandies and the objectionable? Now, come, get dressed. Let me take you out. We'll get a table at the Grovsenor and Sage will join us in her boy clothes. My husband and his friends are sure to be there for tea... He will be so un-amused."

Lady Brighton leads her young ward to the dressing room, leaning in very close to caress her cheek. She chooses a lilac dress, handing it to Julia. "Here, this is lovely. And maybe a hat..."

Julia undresses, stands in her underclothing in front of a mirror, while from behind, another woman enters, dressed in the male accoutrement of the day.

She whispers, still unnoticed by Julia, "Julia, how are you? I am so sorry... Cicely told me about--"

Julia spins around to face Lady Brighton. "--you did not!"

Lady Brighton, rather matter of fact, tosses the lilac dress on a nearby chaise, sitting next to it as she lights a cigarette. "Of course I did. It was the most amusing thing that happened the whole day, why wouldn't I?"

"Cicely..." Sage chastises, glaring at Lady Brighton.

Julia stares from one woman to the next, a fresh round of sobbing due at any moment, "Maybe Cyril could be reformed..." Her voice quavers.

Sage shoots Lady Brighton a look and receives one in kind: horrified for amused. But it is the deep-throated chuckle which comes after, from Lady Brighton, which starts Julia's sobbing again in earnest. "My dear Julia, the only way a woman can ever reform a man is by boring him to death."

Sage now seems rather irritated by the entire conversation. "Do you really want to go through life wondering if your husband is out hunting or bent over in the stables with the valet up his bum?"

Julia now focuses her sadness into the more blunt instrument of anger. "Do try and be less vulgar..."

Sage continues to trod heavily, "Less than Cyril bent over the makeup table?"
Lady Brighton chuckles in a deep baritone usually reserved for males, but it is Sage who is the recipient of the blistering gaze sent her way from Julia.

Sage appears stung. "I am only worried about you." She swivels, yelling at Lady Brighton, who is busy blowing dainty smoke rings into the air. "What have you done to her?"

"I've done nothing. Seeing Cyril Vane being entered by a poorly costumed Mercutio has obviously scarred her delicate psyche."

"Did you take her backstage knowing what you would find?" The accusatory tone in Sage's question requires Julia to now focus on Lady Brighton.

The older woman answers, with not a hint of regret. "I'd heard rumor about that particular dandy's fascination with young boys, but only because my husband brings home the most marvelous stories about acquaintances that he is only too happy to share."

"It was cruel. A cruel thing to do."

Lady Brighton stands, caressing Julia's cheek. "I'm afraid some women appreciate cruelty. Downright cruelty more than anything else, wouldn't you agree, Sage?" Lady Brighton smiles wickedly at the artist wearing boy clothes. " do be a dandy and fetch me a brandy..."

Today, as a writer, I must ponder life's sores, or push the occasional bruise.

My pen is my sword and I wield it with gusto, it is rarely sheathed.

I have something to say and I need you to listen, hopefully without the use of restraints.

But mainly, I write to laugh at the ridiculous when I might otherwise be inclined to, say, strap on a bomb and take a road trip to visit Karl Rove at his summer home. Needless to say, I don’t believe he’s gotten quite what he deserves out of life, just yet.

But I’d be happy to remedy that.

Baptist Pastor Says Tornado is Divine Intervention

Some people literally live in a world of fantasy made up entirely of what they presume to be morally accurate. Unfortunately for them morality is defined differently by everyone.

A Baptist pastor in Minneapolis said a tornado that damaged a Lutheran church was a sign from God regarding opposition to the proposal to lift restrictions on gay and lesbian clergy in the Evangelical Lutheran Church.

He qualified the tornado as a ‘gentle but firm warning’.

I find it sublimely entertaining when people who are supposedly ‘men of god’ interpret vague prophecies in the form of natural disasters, for those of us who are apparently less ‘in the know’.
If nothing else, it provides fantastic fodder for us writers when looking for ironic, homophobic or just plain stupid characters.

Here’s a ‘gentle but firm warning’ for you Pastor John Piper:

God doesn’t actually like people who rape and pillage his word.

Why not let the big guy speak for himself? I'm certain he doesn't need to level a tornado at a church to get his point across, but if you think that's how he rolls, you'd better be careful.

The next unnatural disaster might be coming your way.

Monday, August 17, 2009

The Article

In case you were interested in seeing the actual rant John C. Wright initially made before removing it, here it is:

Here are some of his ‘thoughts’ on homosexuality, in case you're too lazy to read the entire article, though I suggest you do so. If for nothing else, and you're a writer like myself, here's a fantastic character 'picture' of a homophobic religious nut who probably has a plethora of moral skeletons in his own closet we've yet to find out. They always do...

Wright on Homosexuals (who he refers to as 'homosex')

...they-contribute to the moral decay of the land…
…are a malfunction of love …
…they lack of self control in sexual matters…
Classy dude, huh? Maybe he’ll start a new movement and bring back public lynchings of African Americans.

If there’s a strange fruit here, it’s you Mr. Wright.

Let's not buy his books and reward his abhorrant behavior.

If anyone needs to be prayed for it's this man.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

John C. Wright--Response to a Hissy Fit

Earlier this week, an author named John C. Wright, a writer of sf/f novels, decided to use his livejournal blog account to supposedly 'discuss' his distaste for the SyFy channel's decision to make their programming a bit more 'gay friendly'. What he was actually doing was peddling his own brand of homophobia and gay bashing, so thinly disguised within another topic, the blogs have been positively exploding ever since.

(Feel free to check out his journal page. He's whining as we speak.)

He's since removed the article; as school yard bullies often do, they spout off at the mouth and eventually cave when it becomes apparent their words or fists aren't powerful enough to overcome the actual truth as opposed to the truth as they see it.

First, let's take a look at this fellow, so that in the interest of keeping our friends close and enemies closer, we'll be able to recognise him, should he cut us off in traffic or pass us on the street. (I think it goes without saying that a boycott of his material is the way to go--but I can't boycott what I don't read, so...)

Feel free to memorize his list of titles and promptly remove them from your reading list. And if ever a book burning was called for... (Don't burn books for content--burn books when you disagree with the platform the author uses to spew bilious hatred. )

...and it just so happens I just yesterday completed a chapter in my new novel that comes close to what I'd actually say to Mr. Wright, were I to encounter him. I've inserted his name in place of the character name, under the assumption that if I don't, and should John C. Wright pass through here, he might not get the subtle implications without being SPECIFICALLY spoken to by name. (all other content is exactly at it now appears in the chapter)



“When are you planning on giving it a rest, Bert?” The venom in his voice was slightly tempered by his low volume and plastered on smile, though the spittle that landed on Dr. Diesel’s nose told him his step-bro was internally seething.

“Are you familiar with the term squicked, JOHN?” From behind him, two leather-clad woman smiled, giving away their own proclivity for a bit of S & M action.

“God could forgive you, Bert. It would take some work but--” JOHN was speaking loudly now, in an effort to proselytize from behind his invisible pulpit.

“--as a noun it is defined as a physical sense of repulsion when faced with a concept or situation one might find disgusting.”

“Then I guess you’re squicked.” JOHN snickered as a smattering of religious fanatics slowly moved over from in front of his booth to join in the public moral lynching.

“Well, firstly, you’ve used it inappropriately in a sentence, but what you aren’t aware of is that the concept of squick differs from disgust because it refers solely to a sense of repulsion without a moral component. Are you getting this, JOHN? See disgust implies some sort of judgment. A right or wrong scenario. If you say I squick you-and notice I used the word appropriately there-but if I squick you, that simply means you are reacting to something about me, but not applying any sort of universal moral conclusion on myself or any activity I may be taking part in.”

A collective cheer emanated from the full blown maelstrom behind the two men, clearly leaning toward the side of Dr. Diesel and away from the moral minority standing in front of him.

“The distinction, JOHN is quite important to living in a society that is tolerant of that which is unthinkable or repugnant to ourselves. Your religion squicks me, JOHN. But that assertion levels no moral judgment. Just as I assume gay sex squicks you, although I’m guessing it also disgusts you, something that for the record, really isn’t your concern unless you’re the one getting fucked.”Dr. Bertrand Diesel sat back on a sigh and reveled in the cheering crowd.


John C. Wright: I am squicked AND repulsed by you.

Friday, August 14, 2009

The Forgotten Man
by Jeni Decker-Lopez
The cruel light of day magnifies the indignity
Brick and cement closing in on me

Buttressed by the vacancy of another lost dream
Awaiting the sputtered arrival of the day-labor truck

Weary faces scurry by with lowered eyes
Secreting elusive humanity behind wary sighs

Brother can you spare a dime?
I reject the pervasive refrain

Exhausted sleep my futile reprieve;
A rusted cog grinding to a sluggish halt