Writer ... or schizophrenic?

After yet another sleepless night, I begin my day by pondering the question: am I a writer or am I perhaps schizophrenic? I daresay I am not alone in asking this question. I'm quite certain that most authors experience similar worries. When you spend your day creating an alternate world, it's difficult not to question your sanity at some point.

I begin my research by looking up my potential mental illness. From Wikipedia's entry on schizophrenia: "Common symptoms include auditory hallucinations, paranoid or bizarre delusions, or disorganized speech and thinking ..." Hmm, I will look at these issues one by one and see if I can answer my question.

Auditory hallucinations. Put a big fat check mark in this column. One of the things keeping me up at night is the voices of my characters, both beloved and not. A few nights ago, I had a warrior from the fantasy novel I'm currently writing telling me in no uncertain terms that he was displeased with how I had written his handling of a certain situation. He felt that my description of his actions made him seem incompetent (I did tell him that I thought 'incompetent' was a rather harsh word to use, but he was fairly adamant about it). At any rate, he wouldn't shut up - which is fairly odd for him as he's not usually that loquacious, and I finally had to get out of bed at 4:30 am to rewrite the scene in order to gain his approval and get some sleep. Of course, the fact that our little argument took place in a strange language that I invented may seem odd, but what could I do? The guy doesn't speak English!

He's not the only character to interrupt my sleep cycle. Another has now taken to telling me that she wants more lines. Sometimes, I imagine it's what a producer on a movie set must feel like - you have all these competing personalities and you're trying to make them all happy so the production (book in this case) goes smoothly.

And if those two weren't enough, among my chatty characters are also two obnoxious cats and a gentle puppy. You should hear some of the things those cats say. It's downright disturbing.

Paranoid or bizarre delusions. Well, I'm split on this (it's okay for me to say that, I already ruled out a dissociative identity disorder), so I'll give myself a check mark in both the have and don't have columns for this one. I don't consider myself particularly paranoid (although my overworked paper shredder might disagree), but bizarre delusions? I write fantasy novels. Of course I have bizarre delusions. The entire world is a figment of my imagination ... or is it? Wait. Am I the only one that heard evil laughter just now? Anyway, when you spend almost every waking hour working out the details of an imaginary world in your head, it's difficult not to get lost in it at times. This is true even if it's not a fantasy world because I have many of the same issues when I work on modern, take-place-in-this-world novels. Every activity you become involved in during the day raises the inevitable questions: how would character X react to this? How would it work in his/her world? Would this even exist/happen in his/her world? Why or why not? Then your imagination starts answering those questions and off you go into bizarre delusion land.

One good thing about my bizarre delusions? I'm never alone. My peeps go everywhere with me. Of course, there is a downside to that - some of those fantasy realm people are not fond of automobiles. They amount of screaming and gasping coming from them in my mind if I fail to brake more than 100 yards before a traffic light is just alarming, and don't get me started on their reactions to computers, television, telephones and other technology.

Disorganized speech and thinking. Check mark in the have column, but it's not my fault. I blame the bizarre delusions. Okay, that did sound a little crazy, I admit, but you see it's only my reactions to those writing-induced delusions that may cause others to perceive me as having the aforementioned symptoms. I've found myself walking down the aisle of a store having a conversation and then re-having it multiple times in a (hopefully) better-worded fashion in an attempt to remember it so I can write it down once I'm home. I usually only realize that I'm doing this aloud when people start hurriedly looking the other way or grabbing the hands of small children and running. I think I shall start walking around with an earpiece in so people will assume that I'm on the phone, rather than insane.

I have to say that having examined the symptoms and my behavior, I'm not sure an outsider would be able to positively conclude that I am, in fact, not schizophrenic. I mean I spend hours a day lost in an imaginary world, speaking an imaginary language and talking to imaginary people. It doesn't sound sane, does it? It's a good thing I know the truth: I'm just a writer who spends hours in front of a keyboard writing fictional stories for entertainment purposes ... or am I actually a fictional character that some author somewhere is writing about as she attempts to delve into her psyche looking for the answers to her own existence and blogging about it. Oh dear, I may have to look into the whole dissociative disorder thing again.

Christmas Movies

Well, December is here and it's time to pick our Christmas movies. No, I'm talking about It's a Wonderful Life or A Christmas Carol. I'm talking about either off-beat movies or those that have a Christmas backdrop that you just have to watch every December.

For my husband and me, there are two staples. His is Love Actually. Mine is The Ref. (Can you tell who the romantic in our relationship is?) I suppose my choice says more about my dysfunctional childhood than anything else. I mean being held hostage on Christmas? Fighting with your family? Being insulted by relatives? It's the embodiment of my childhood Christmases. And even if you had a more normal family life, holiday stress is something to which everyone can relate. The movie takes it to the nth degree and adds that touch of humor you need in order to laugh at it and move on with the day! At any rate, it's an incredibly funny and enjoyable movie with some great lines ('Your husband ain't dead, lady, he's hiding' is one of my favorites). Denis Leary, Kevin Spacey and Judy Davis are awesome, as is the rest of the supporting cast. This is a movie that reminds us all that families suck (just kidding) - reminds us all that the holidays can be stressful even if there isn't an armed robber holding you hostage in your own home. But beyond that storyline, it also serves as a reminder that the holidays can herald the end of arguments and new beginnings.

Unlike my choice, hubby chooses a movie about romance and pursuing love. What can I say - I got lucky, he got stuck with me! Love Actually follows several different story lines which intersect in some way - sometimes only because the characters know those in the other storylines, not because they actually interact. It examines the relationships of single people, married people, cheaters, widowers, young people, dreamers and those who put duty to family before their own desires. There's pretty much something for everyone in it. Hugh Grant is excellent as the prime minister (loved seeing him dance behind closed doors) and Bill Nighy as the aging rocker whose behavior is predictably inappropriate is simply awesome (favorite line: 'Don't buy drugs, kids, become a pop star and they'll give them to you free'). I also enjoyed the Colin Firth and Lúcia Moniz storyline about two people who fall in love without speaking the other's language. Their subtitled similar-yet different conversations were very well-written. I don't mean to leave any of the other plot lines out, there are just too many stars to name in this one to name them all in a short blog post.

Now, we need two more movies to round out the month's selections. My other choice was Elf. I am not generally a fan of this type of SNL style humor, but I do like this movie - not for its standard 'Christmas spirit conquers all' message, but for its portrayal of a simplistic man whose unshakable faith in Santa and Christmas lead to all sorts of merriment (the Angry elf scene being one of my favorites in this one).

As for a fourth movie the jury is still out. If I had a third choice, it might be Friday After Next (for some reason it really makes me laugh), but it's hubby's choice because I've already selected my two. If there was a movie about an Alien cowboy Santa that had been deputized and was hunting down crooks who steal Christmas gifts and included lots of sleigh-chasing-car scenes he might pick that, but I suspect his second choice will be The Last Holiday. We absolutely love Queen Latifah and this movie has everything a holiday movie could ask for: romance, character redemption, happy endings and so much more.

Wreck the Halls, Christmas with Cats

Every year, as the Christmas season approaches, to make sure that I don't let my guard down, I revisit the horror that was December 2006 for me. Okay, horror isn't quite the right word, but let's just say that it wasn't the Norman Rockwell Christmas of my dreams.

After losing my precious, cat soul-mate Siamese the prior February, I'd decided that I couldn't live without at least one Siamese in my life, so I got two kittens, one seal point named Benton and his blue point brother, Jack. Add to that the puppy we'd gotten that year (having also lost a beautiful, loyal, awesome dog in January) and you have the makings of quite a cute Christmas card ... or so I thought. Like most deluded kitten and puppy owners, I looked forward to the holiday season with my playful little furballs.

I suppose in the eighteen years since I'd adopted my first Siamese, I'd forgotten about all of the mischief he used to get into, not the least of which was removing an alarmingly large amount of wallpaper from the walls of a rented apartment, eating an entire slipper, making off with a pet iguana, trashing the apartment so thoroughly that I thought I'd been robbed, and completely biting through the Christmas tree lights extension cord. It is due to this selective amnesia that the extent of kitten mischief my new meezers engaged in actually took me by surprise. Then there was Daphne, the new puppy who was so destructive that we took to calling her The Daphinator.

While I had dreamed of a warm, festive holiday season, what actually followed was an angst-filled month of destruction and home-wrecking (by the animals), and newly emerging neuroses and alcohol consumption (by me) - all of which was documented in the kittens' blog. Pardon the writing, this is an unedited blog and I was, after all, having a nervous breakdown (and quite possibly drunk) when I wrote most of it.

Scroll to the bottom to begin reading: Benton and Jack's Christmas Blog

In My Mind, I'm Still Twenty-five

In my mind, I'm still twenty-five. In reality, I'm not. How old am I? Well, a lady never tells, but let's just say that twenty-five is pretty far back in the rearview mirror. Anyway, with the exception of those times when I spend hours searching for my car keys only to find they have been inexplicably placed in the refrigerator, I feel as fit and alert as I did back then. In fact, that attitude hasn't changed in years (and people much older than me have expressed similar sentiments), so I have no reason to think I'll ever "feel my age" - mentally anyway.

This should be a good thing, right? I mean, who doesn't smile at the thought that when they're forty, fifty or even seventy, they'll still feel capable of living a full life, doing everything they used to. I suppose that's true, but ... (there's always a but, isn't there?) the problem comes when you fail to acknowledge that this "I can do anything I used to" feeling is all in your head.

Just yesterday, I saw a television commercial advertising an upcoming ice dancing show. The ad showed a skater doing a beautiful split as she leapt gracefully through the air. (Are you starting to see the problem here?) Naturally, I immediately pictured myself performing such a move right there in my living room. And so I did. Now, the real flaw in my thinking here was the thought that I was ever capable of performing such a move. I mean, sure, I went skating when I was a kid. I even managed to remain upright through most of it. However, I can think of no instance when both of my feet left the surface of the rink that wasn't the result of an unfortunate meeting of my backside and the ice. Also, the whole leaping thing aside, I cannot recall ever having been able to (intentionally) do a split.

This incident is only slightly reminiscent of my last cartwheel attempt only three years ago - which was successful by the way - but then, I was actually able to do cartwheels when I was younger. The only reason I did it recently was to make sure that the supposedly healed elbow I had broken was in fact still capable of holding me up in an inverted position. Now, why I needed to know that remains a mystery and the possible outcome if it had failed (that is, landing on my head) was potentially dangerous - so much so that my current older self spent a bit of time chastising that stupid but-I'm-still-twenty-five mindset of mine.

Other notable stupid things I've done in the name of independence and a can-do attitude include attempting to remove old kitchen cabinets by myself (those are much heavier when they land on your foot than you think they'll be), doing yoga in an un-airconditioned house after mowing the lawn on a 100 degree plus day (why is that floor moving up so fast?) and - this one happened when I was still young - attempting a high kick while wearing the tight jeans of a skinny young woman (let's just say that the stitching of said tight jeans did not allow for such a separation of the legs and be thankful that I was in front of a soft bed to fall on).

As for yesterday, I'm pleased to report that my ill-advised leap did not result in any lasting injury, nor were there any cameras around, so I won't end up on YouTube. However, the mere attempt introduced me to muscles I don't recall having - and they weren't happy. I'm now trying to convince my silly mind that there are perhaps things I should no longer try, no matter how cool they look when I picture myself doing them.

PS - I may finally be learning because shortly after the leaping incident, The Ellen Show had Madonna and her dancers on and I managed to refrain from attempting to do any of the moves they performed! Of course, that might have been due to the still sore muscles in my legs. Today will no doubt find me once again trying to play Dance Central (I still can't figure out why my Kinect doesn't recognize when I am flipping it off!).

Getting Old Isn't All Bad, Try Something New

Getting old sucks. And the sucking starts earlier than you think it will. By the time you hit your late twenties, you're already noticing that going out all night - whether it be to a bar, a show or even just to a friend's house - is just not as fun as it used to be. You start feeling the effects of late night carousing the next morning. And that's just the beginning. Then the aches start. And then there's the what was it now ... oh yeah, the forgetfulness.

But this post isn't about the suckiness of aging. This is about one of the good things about getting older (yes, there are actually some). Aside from the great wisdom you'll have gleaned from your life experiences (some of us learn more than others depending on how hard life chooses to kick our butts along the way), one of the best things about aging is that you stop caring what other people think about some of the choices you make. For example, typing a non-word like 'suckiness' and not giving a damn that it doesn't appear in a dictionary.

To be clear, I'm not talking about moral choices. Just because your ice cream birthday cake melts if you put the real number of candles on it now doesn't mean you can suddenly decide to start ramming the cars of drivers who seem to fall asleep when the light turns green, or yell at the moron ... I mean person in front of you at the self-service checkout who thinks that grinding the package into the glass will help the already-scratched-beyond-repair-from-the-last-customer-who -did-that scanner read the barcode any better. No, what I'm talking about is the programs you watch, the books you read and the music you listen to. Especially the music. When I was younger, it just seemed way too important to listen to the right music for acceptance in whatever social group you belonged to. We wanted our bands to be underground. Radio play was bad. Commercial success was discouraged. What the hell was wrong with us?

I'll tell you what was wrong with us. An underdeveloped understanding of economics. I mean, really. If nobody but me and my closest friends listened to a band, how on earth would that band be able to continue making music? Like everyone else in the world, they needed money to buy food, clothing and shelter.

As I've gotten older, I've stopped worrying about being labeled as someone who likes this type of music or that one. I no longer care. I have an incredibly eclectic music selection on my iPod. One minute it's playing some techno-goth tune and the next it'll be a traditional Celtic reel. Sure this variety led to one unfortunate incident in which a track from the Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack (original cast including Murray Head and Ian Gillan, naturally) was immediately followed by a song titled "Satan", but those are few and far between.

Yep, musical variety is by far one of the best benefits to aging. I've found songs that I really like from so many different genres that I never would have listened to when I was younger, including songs from country, hip hop, traditional, world and even - dare I say it - pop! In fact, I pity my younger self for missing out on some good music all those years.

Give it a try. There are so many places where you can get exposure to different stuff at no risk. YouTube, samplers, or even band-sanctioned free downloads. (Side note: please make sure that free music is legal and offered by the band or publisher. Remember, if you won't support artists by legally obtaining their music/books/films, etc., why would you expect them to keep entertaining you? Would you want to entertain someone who was stealing from you?)

Today's musical suggestion from me is The Darrell Webb Band. I confess that the combination of watching Justified and researching my Appalachian father's genealogy prompted me to listen to some Bluegrass, and it's not all to my taste, but I really like this band. Excellent instrumentation and what a set of pipes he has! My personal favorites thus far are Miner's Hell and Goodbye to the Sun.

But no matter what you choose to listen to, keep an open mind and enjoy!

My Startling Revelation

So things in the New York tri-state area have been kind of tough since Hurricane Sandy (that's an understatement). You've seen the images on television, store shelves wiped out, long lines at the gas pump, flooded homes, lots of devastation. Not good. My husband is something of a closet fan of Doomsday Preppers and his fear of a Zombie Apocalypse is well-known (to me).

Anyway, a few days after Sandy hit, my very kind and thoughtful husband volunteered to stop at the food store to restock our pet food supply. I graciously accepted and mentioned one or two people food items that might be nice. He returned with a ****load of stuff. Spent waaaaay more than I ever do on the shopping.

Not that I was surprised by that. I don't want to generalize, but I've noticed over the years that many men tend to concentrate on snack foods and cleaners, rather than the makings of real meals. So, in my post-Sandy kitchen I now have gallons and gallons of water (good), winter lager (he surprised me with that ... yum), tons of potato chips, Fritos, pretzels, Doritos, cookies and crackers. Oh yeah. And pepperoni. Lots of pepperoni.

Fortunately, my propensity to overstock especially when there's a sale, means we're still good for regular food, but let me just say ... this hasn't been my best healthy eating week. Between his testosterone-inspired food shopping trip and the advice of the news anchors that we should "hunker down and eat our Halloween candy" (now that's responsible reporting for you), my diet's taken a bit of a hit.

However, today, as I opened a winter lager and sat back with a bowl of chips and dip, I had the startling revelation as to what's going on. That son of a bitch! He thinks the Zombie Apocalypse is imminent and he's fattening me up to slow me down so he can get away!

It goes without saying that it's not a good environment for a relationship when one partner believes the other is out to get them killed by zombies. I mean, he's buying me enough crap to ensure that my dentist will, in fact, be able to take that Caribbean vacation (provided the zombies don't eat him first), and there I am trying to surreptitiously add lard to his portion of the meal in an attempt to even things out, all the while listening for the sound of footsteps so he doesn't see what I'm doing. I'll have to start loosening his clothing soon so he doesn't notice.

For the record, I finally confronted him about his diabolical plan and he laughed ... but he didn't deny it.

Sins of the Flesh

My humble apologies if you weren't expecting a hellfire and brimstone sermon on the evils of attraction and sex. I have no problems with consensual sex between two adults ... of any gender. That's not what this post is about.

Here's what it is about: I had iTunes on shuffle and the song Sins of the Flesh by Sister Machine Gun came on. I decided to plug it into a YouTube search and see what came up. What a surprise. Were you surprised? I was so surprised. Sorry, was channeling Eddie Izzard for a minute there. Anyway, in addition to the expected song, a whole bunch of other videos came up.

Since I'm easily distracted (I was supposed to be working on the third book in the Masters of the Storm series), I decided to check them out.

• 1 - Sins of the Flesh, by Lucky Dube This song was surprisingly pleasant to listen to (for me b/c it's reggae and out of my usual genre). Sadly, I found that the musician was murdered in a carjacking.
• 2 - Sucker Punch by Sins of the Flesh - Not sure what I thought of this. I think it's a song I could probably grow to like if I listened to it enough. I especially liked the point in the song where the vocalist's voice reminded me a bit of the vocalist from Faith No More
• 3 - Sins of the Flesh by Real Catholic TV - yeah, um, my eyes glazed over after about thirty seconds. These morons are trying to tell us that God gave us the ability to feel the ultimate pleasure yet we are supposed to not do it? Even if you're married, but not trying to procreate? How is that not turning your back on a God-given gift? Hey, for all I know, they addressed this issue, but all I heard after the first few seconds was blah blah blah, flesh, blah blah blah, pornography, blah blah blah diabolical ... I gave up.
• 4 - Sins of the Flesh, Lizzy Borden - first thought? 80s hair band metal. Let's check 'em out on Wiki. Yep, if it quacks like a duck. Don't get me wrong. I didn't mind some 80s hair bands ... in the 80s. It's just not all that appealing to me now.
• 5 - Sins of the Flesh - Greed. Wow. very speed metal-sounding. I liked. If I had found this when i was a kid, I'd have listened to it all the time. Just a tad long (14+ minutes) for my adult onset ADD :P
• 6 - Sins of Flesh - Dovble O.mov - Well, hip hop isn't my usual genre, either, but I liked the beat and the lyrics were honest. Not bad.
• 7 - Sins of the Flesh - First Communion - video claimed to be deathrock. I'm not buying it. Rock, yes, death rock? Nah. I found it way too heavy on the treble end of the spectrum to be pleasant to listen to. I actually had to turn the speakers down (the only other video that inspired such action was the hellfire and brimstone narrator on the Catholic video). Not really my cup of tea.
• 8 - Sins of the flesh: repent yourself before temptation strikes!- LOL! Turned out to be a car commercial from Brazil. Me gusto mucho mucho mucho. Okay, that was supposed to be the Spanish word for very (mucho) twice, followed by the silly English-speaker pseudo-Spanish word much with an 'o' on the end, but it either ended up being very times three in Spanish, or obnoxious English speaker thrice over. Anyway, very funny! Sins of the flesh: repent yourself before temptation strikes!
• 9 - Sins of the Flesh [www.silverdollargames.com] WTF??? Apparently, this is an Xbox game. Where is the receipt for my Xbox? Can I still return it?
• 10 - book trailer: Sins of the Flesh, by Caridad Pineiro. I never read it, but it got good reviews - currently 4.2 out of 5 stars on Amazon and 3.66 on GoodReads. Overall, her books seem to have good ratings. If you like romance, maybe you should check her out.
• 11 - Sins O' The Flesh Switch Night 2010 Freddie Mercury Trixie - Hmm, I like Rocky Horror, I like Freddie Mercury, and sexual orientation doesn't bother me a bit (everybody should do what makes them happy - provided it's legal), but I kind of didn't get this ... at all. Not the song from Rocky Horror I'd have chosen for a male to strip to, gay or otherwise. just weird. Oh well. Moving on ...
• 12 - Sins Of The Flesh by Toy Love - OMG! 80s stuff. Lots of 80s stuff. The song itself is kind of catchy. The images are horribly 80s.
• 13 - Sins O' The Flesh - In Show Safety Instructions - for anyone who had ever attended a midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Well, to quote Willow a la season 6 (from Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Bored now. We're into variations on the search words now anyway. This was kind of an interesting exercise. Perhaps I'll repeat it in the future. Hmm, Kid Rock's I am the Bullgod is playing right now. Wonder what that search would get me? Never mind, it'd probably yield a bunch of Romney videos that I don't want to watch.

November is Spy Month

In honor of the upcoming new Bond film, November's movie theme will be spy movies. Now, which ones to pick?

As a huge fan of things relating to the Cold War, I could choose from the multitude of serious films made on the subject. Excellent ones include Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, The Company, The Lives of Others (post Cold War, but applicable none-the-less). However, in the wake of the devastation done by Sandy surrounding us on Long Island (800,000 still without power, gas in short supply, homes destroyed, trees down everywhere, and absolutely horrific stories of loss of lives - I had to turn the news off because I found myself breaking down every time I thought about it), I think we should go for a lighter mood (for the first two, at least).

Three excellent choices come to mind: Gotcha, The Man Who Knew too Little, and Her Alibi.

Now, Gotcha is just pure brilliance. There's no part of that movie that I don't absolutely love. Anthony Edwards plays a college student who gets involved with a courier (Linda Fiorentino) and travels to East Berlin with her. Though the lead actors were fantastic, one of my favorite parts of the movie remains all of the peripheral characters. The Marine at Checkpoint Charlie, Jonathan's friend Manolo, the Mexican housekeeper Rosaria, Jonathan's parents, the waiter in the French Cafe, the East German police and best of all - in an outstanding portrayal of civil servants that seems to cross even the Iron Curtain - the CIA receptionist and the East German border agent who sells visas. If you've never seen it, give it a try, I think you'll enjoy it.

The Man Who Knew too Little: what can I say about this movie? Bill Murray plays Peter Gallagher's annoying brother. Gallagher lives in London and is hosting an important business meeting, so he buys one of those adventure packages for Murray to keep him busy. When Murray's 'adventure' collides with real life, he becomes mixed up in a web of intrigue and an assassination plot. Guaranteed to make you laugh.

Her Alibi: This one takes place in America. Tom Selleck is an author with writer's block. He goes to a courtroom for inspiration and sees a beautiful woman (Paulina Porizkova) accused of murder. Selleck decides to provide her with an alibi and becomes involved in some political intrigue. The interactions between Selleck and Porizkova are terrific and very funny, but the best part by far is the running narrative of Selleck's character as he writes a book loosely (very loosely as you'll see) based on what's happening in real life with Porizkova.

After we have some comic relief, perhaps we'll add a Bond flick to the month's viewing. If I had my way, we'd watch the BBC miniseries that was made of Len Deighton's Game, Set and Match series (the books are Berlin Game, Mexico Set and London Match), but it's never been made available. I saw this when I was much younger on PBS and loved it. I had already read the books and I thought the series was well made (although I read somewhere that perhaps that author hadn't agreed). I even had my hubby read the book a year or two ago and he loved them. Sigh.

Since I have to stick to movies that are actually available, I think it will have to be Bond. Now, which one to choose ...

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil

During the month of October, my husband and I watch a horror movie each weekend. We each get to pick two. This month's selections were chosen some time ago: Carrie (not nearly as scary as I'd remembered), Shaun of the Dead (always a pleaser), The Thing (not exactly my thing, but hubby likes it), and this coming weekend's selection, The Hitcher (the original, scary Rutger Hauer version, not the remake - which I was not thrilled with and only own b/c I clicked buy without looking close enough).

However, while browsing in a store this past week, we came across Tucker and Dale vs. Evil. Now, we'd already watched three of the month's movies, and there was only one more weekend to come, but the appeal of this movie was too much for us to resist. Hillbillies that aren't scary Deliverance types (since my Daddy was an Appalachian mountain man, we like hillbillies) and comical mix-ups that lead to all sorts of misconceptions. Sounded good, so we bought it. And we added an extra movie night this past weekend.

Honestly, my expectations weren't all that high, but only because I'm not a slasher movie fan. However, we do like Alan Tudyk and Tyler Labine and had every confidence that they'd make us laugh. We were not disappointed. I laughed my ass off! It reminded me of another movie that caused similarly inappropriate yet uncontrollable laughter called Big Nothing, but that's another story. Back to Tucker and Dale. Very funny. SPOILER ALERT! Seeing Alan Tudyk ask someone who'd just fallen into a wood chipper if he was okay in such a way that you could almost imagine doing the same thing in the highly unlikely event that you found yourself in similar circumstances was brilliant. Great writing. Terrific acting. Tudyk and Labine's characters were refreshingly likeable.

We will definitely be revisiting this one next October, along with Shaun of the Dead, and I think we'll have to watch Repo: the Genetic Opera again. Just need to come up with a fourth, maybe Salem's Lot or something similar.

Thank you Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Joss Whedon

Today's thoughts have a more somber tone than usual. That's because many years ago on this date, I promised to love someone until death we did part in front of God and witnesses. One of the few things in my life about which I have no regrets is that I fulfilled that promise.

I was fortunate enough to fall in love with a wonderful man for the second time in my life and am happily remarried now, but that doesn't stop the memories and reflections about what went before, especially on days like this.

By the winter of '98, my first husband was very ill, his body having been ravaged by disease for many years. He was tiring of the battle that was daily life for him. Most of our conversations revolved around medications, treatments, etc., but one of the last things I vividly recall him saying to me was, "Buffy might have to kill Angel. I don't know what she's going to do, but I can't wait to find out."

How extraordinary was it that a man whose only certainty about the next day was that it would be filled with pain and suffering looked forward to it anyway because he wanted to watch Buffy? Anyone who thinks it was a silly show or his desire to watch it wasn't important has no idea what they're talking about. I was so awestruck that he cared about it ... about anything at that point, that I didn't even know how to respond. The show did exactly what it (and all forms of entertainment, for that matter) was supposed to - it distracted him from his problems enough that he found time to enjoy something.

I should point out that I was not watching Buffy at that time, not because I didn't like it, but rather because I worked two jobs, took care of my sick husband, and went to school at night. In my "spare" time, I cleaned the house, did laundry, went food shopping, did homework, wrote papers and programs and took care of the finances. I did not have the luxury of watching much television and I was in class when Buffy was on so I never got to see it.

Sadly, my husband passed away before the season ended and he never got to see what happened. It took me months to be able to turn the television on again after he died, so I didn't see it, either.

But when the show started up again the next season, I watched it religiously, hoping that his spirit was there with me, and he was able to watch his favorite program. From there, I (we) watched every Buffy and Angel episode. My second husband and I have enjoyed Firefly and Dollhouse (and Dr. Horrible, The Avengers, etc.) together.

But I am eternally grateful to Joss Whedon and the cast of Buffy for giving a dying man something to look forward to. At a time when he knew only pain and suffering, he could still get excited about that one special hour a week when he could watch Buffy. If that isn't something extraordinary, I don't know what is.

Fred's Evil Plan is Here!

Fred's Evil Plan to Take over the World is now available on Kindle, Nook, and paperback.

Fred began his blogging career in 2006, but for various reasons, we weren't able to be consistent with it after 2008. My father was very ill and then we lost one of Fred's minions, and I didn't have the heart or time to get Fred to the computer to do his blogging.

When he began blogging again in 2011, I had every intention of being better with it, but then Fred himself experienced some serious health problems, not the least of which was diabetes that had him at death's door this past July. We sat in the vet's office faced with that awful decision but decided to give him one last chance. We had him hospitalized and given lots of IV fluids, along with his insulin. The diabetes turns out to have been the result of a medication he was on, so once we discontinued that and saw him through the darkest days of his dehydration and high sugars, he actually rallied and is back home plotting more evil deeds even as I write this.

At any rate, my heart wasn't in continuing his blog, but when I went back and read through it, I realized that he had in fact reached an excellent end point. So I spent a few months going through it, organizing, adding in several posts that never got published in the blog and setting up his glossary of feline reading material.

I do hope that Fred's antics provide enjoyable entertainment for any other cat slaves out there that find it.

Walking Dogs Hazardous to Health

Oh, wait ... not all dogs. But definitely mine. Whereas the dogs look forward to walkies as the absolute best time of the day, their puppy mama (me) approaches walkies as being led to the gallows. Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I definitely have apprehension. After all, it is one of these dogs that I tripped over, breaking my elbow a few years back (and no, I didn't see which one - if I'd seen the dog, I wouldn't have tripped over her).

Now, once I decide to take my dogs for a walk, it's a very real commitment. I put my sneakers on and look up to see the dogs walking in circles of anticipation. They're hopeful, but not yet certain. Next, I put my cell phone in my pocket, followed by my keys. By the time I grab the poop pickup bags, the dogs are in a frantic state that reminds me of a feeding frenzy you would see on a Nat Geo channel special.

I'd love to be able to take both dogs at once, but though I stare jealously at others who mosey along with two or three dogs walking leisurely at their side, that is not my lot in life. Wanting to get the harder walk over with, I take Daphne, the epileptic shepherd mix, first. I attach her breakaway collar (a must if you have multiple dogs that play together, IMO), harness (not easy to put on a manic dog), and choker chain. I'm not a fan of the choker, but little-miss-escape-artist makes it a necessity. I like the security of knowing that if she slips her halter (which she has done in the past), I have the other leash to fall back on. Daphne is so committed to her walk, that once I attach the leashes, nothing short of walking a few blocks will get her back in the house (meaning I'd better not forget anything because there's no turning back once we're through the door).

We step out onto the front step and I have the dog wait while I lock the door. With all of my dog-walking gear and my pup sitting at my side on the top of the steps, I look pro. I take a deep breath and think to myself, "Watch out, Dog Whisperer. Here comes Amy." With that Daphne launches off the stoop. With a death grip on her leash, I fly after her, sometimes achieving a near-horizontal position in mid-air. However, my "Superman" imitation doesn't last long. Gravity takes over and I crash to the ground, still being dragged along behind my impatient dog. You'd think she'd be happy and content, but no sooner do we leave our property when Miss I-have-to-get-out suddenly becomes apprehensive. Her tail drops and she sniffs every inch of the ground, checking for signs of danger as she continues to drag me behind her at a fast clip. The only plus here is that I am finally able to right myself and regain some of my shredded dignity. I am ever vigilant for signs of an impending seizure.

We continue down the block until we arrive at the first house where another dog is in residence. Daphne knows well which houses these are, and starts looking to them when we are still two or three houses away. She loves to play and the only thing that can take her mind off of her walk apprehension is the possibility that one of these dogs will suddenly run out to her. The once tucked-between-her-legs tail is now wagging and she is straining to the end of the leashes with the resistance of me at the other end of the leash causing her to rear up on her hind legs. (As always, my puppy's dream is my nightmare. The one time some loose dogs did run out to her she ran around in circles with them until the leashes were wrapped around my legs, rendering me unable to move.)

The only way to propel her past these homes is to walk briskly ahead of her, tugging on the leash. She gets the hint and runs alongside me, but never takes her eyes off the house. She bends herself into a seemingly impossible 90 degree or greater angle so she can watch the windows. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to understand instructions/words such as "look where you're going", "signpost" or "parked car", which sometimes results in an unfortunate meeting between distracted dog and immovable object. Should we encounter someone else walking a dog, the outcome is much the same. I've got all sorts of tricks to try to deal with those situations, such as waiting on the side of a parked car until the other dog has passed, with varying success.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally return home with Daphne, having had no falls or other harrowing experiences. As we get close to the house, my lab mix can be heard. As far as I can tell, she barks for the duration of Daphne's walk, because she starts when I close the door and I hear her from a few houses down when I return. I think she's saying, "You forgot me ... you forgot me ... you forgot me," but that's just a guess.

I attach the leashes to Laney's harness and head out with her. Daphne takes up residence in the bay window to watch our progress, but at least she doesn't bark. Laney is fun to walk. She sits automatically when we reach the curb, doesn't pull and watches where she is going (a big plus).

However, that does not mean that our walks are without the occasional mishap. For starters, Laney is not a fan of trucks. As soon as a truck gets near, she starts running around in circles, spinning me with her. Truthfully, I'm afraid that the trainer who signed Laney's obedience certificate is going to show up during one of these episodes and demand its return.

Then there's the matter of sprinklers. She goes nuts at the feel of one teensy weensy, little drop of water landing on her fur. I though labs were supposed to like water. I try to put her in a nice heel and pass the sprinkler just off the curb where she won't get wet, but she moves her head back and forth nervously between the sprinkler and the road, looking like sped up footage of a spectator at a tennis match.

However, all of that pales in comparison to picking up after her. Laney has perfected that art of the moving poo. The only way to get it all is to stand behind her holding the bag out to catch it. That worked for a time, but she has since decided that I am chasing her and now keeps jumping to the side to keep out of my reach, all the while still conducting her business. This resulted in the ultimate humiliation of having her yank the leash and pull me off balance. As if in slow motion, I was helpless to stop myself from rolling onto my back. And sadly, yes, I think there was at least one witness to my ungraceful, less than coordinated surprise meeting with the sidewalk (which reminded me of the time a boss told me she'd fallen while out jogging and when she returned home all bruised and battered, her daughter exclaimed, "Oh, my God, Mom. Did anyone see you?").

So, my dogs have lots of walkies experience and have both completed obedience training, but it remains much better (and healthier) for me, if we don't encounter strangers or other dogs on our walk. This is why I was very interested to learn about this: Some dogs need space.

Jimmy the Doorman is my Hero

You're probably wondering who Jimmy the doorman is and what he could possibly have done to earn such a lofty position in my eyes. I'll get to that, but a little background is required first. I'm sure most of you have heard about the shooting outside the Empire State Building at the end of August. It was tragic. I don't blame the police officers for firing on the gunman. The man was trying to shoot them. Would you just stand there and not shoot? I doubt it.

Anyway, that's not what this post is about. This post is about my hero, Jimmy the doorman. Now, in New York (I can't speak for anywhere else, I was here), the news reporters preempted all normal programming to bring us breaking news. It was all they showed. For hours. It was as though nothing else was happening anywhere in the world. At four pm, they were still flashing breaking news banners across the screen. I mean ... really? Seven hours after the event and they're still calling it breaking news? Methinks someone needs to learn the definition of that hackneyed expression.

At any rate, I'm not much of a fan of newscasts, but I decided to listen and see if there was any value to these tedious, annoying, overdone reports.

At first, you had your usual, eyewitness-on-the street people. They were sure that multiple people had been shot. One woman even saw the gunman. He was in his twenties and wearing beige pants. The anchor people reported these 'facts' to their viewing audience. A short time later, their reporters were out talking to their sources to get the inside track on what was going on. After a very long hour or two, they were reporting that the shooter was a man in his twenties who had been fired from his job in an office in the Empire State Building who had tried to gain access to the skyscraper but had been refused entry by the security staff inside. The gunman then waited outside for his boss who had fired him the day before to come out so he could confront him. Let's take a look at how well the press did:

News Reports	City Officials
It was a man	Yes, it was a man
... in his twenties	... in his fifties
He'd been fired	He had indeed been fired
... the day before	... the year before
from his job in the Empire State Building	from his job in an office near the Empire State Building
He was wearing beige pants	He was wearing a gray suit
He tried to get into the ESB but had to wait outside for his boss	He waited near the ESB for his boss
Only the gunman and his boss had been shot. The nine other injured had been trampled by the mass of people who had run screaming for their lives when the shooting began	The gunman and his boss had been shot, and nine bystanders had been hit by ricochet bullets

As you can see, despite sending reporters all over the city and interrupting television programming, the news provided very little in the way of useful information. I mean they got that it was a man and he'd been fired. Good job, guys. I'm sooooooo happy that we were subjected to hours of this monotony for a good reason.

Where does Jimmy the doorman fit in to all of this? I'll tell you. When I finally decided that I just couldn't take any more 'breaking news', I started channel surfing in an attempt to find something else to have as background noise while I tried to do some work. I flipped by one station and the anchor (who had just finished interviewing some other 'eyewitness') announced that they had Jimmy the doorman on the line.

Anchor: And what did you see?
Jimmy the doorman: I didn't see nothing!
Anchor: Oh! Uh ...

Jimmy's confusing use of the double negative aside, I laughed my ass off! Sadly, I had already pressed the channel change button and when I rushed to get back to that station, a rather dumbfounded anchorperson was saying "Well, thank you for calling." I wish I'd heard her initial reaction and perhaps anything else that Jimmy the doorman might have had to say, but I'll have to settle for imagining her discomfort. I despise watching reporters talk to people on the street that really have nothing of importance to say. Why can't we just stick to the facts?

I can only think (dream/hope) that Jimmy the doorman called in to teach them a lesson and that's why Jimmy the doorman is my hero.

Learning the German Language

I cannot ever hope to even come close to Mark Twain's awesome observations regarding the study of the German language, but I can offer my own thoughts and experiences. For the record, my favorite Twain quote was something about how he'd rather decline two German beers than one German adjective. I don't know if I'd go that far but ...

In high school, I took Spanish. Then, for the first time, they offered Russian the next year. I jumped at the opportunity. I loved Russian I. Unfortunately, not many of my classmates felt the same and they only offered Russian II on a sort of tutorial-give up your lunch break and we'll let you take this class-working on your own at the back of the Russian I class basis. What can I say? I was hooked. I took the class. You know, eating lunch while ignoring what the teacher was saying and doing my own thing was actually kind of neat.

Then I went to college.

They had no placement exam for Russian (most American schools do NOT offer it!), and I decided if I had to take an introductory language course (I had by then become enamored by all things Cold War related and found Spanish boring), I would take German.

While the other students in the class moaned on hearing there were four different cases, I laughed. Russian had six. A couple of different letters? No problem. I had learned a different alphabet for Russian. Alternate pronunciation? I scoffed. Russian had several sounds that I never learned how to make properly. I accepted my deficiencies in that area (which were - I am certain - ample) and moved on.

I should mention that as a computer science major who really didn't need another language - aside from computer languages, that is - it was a few semesters before I had room in my schedule to take a new language, and I actually tried first to take classical Greek. BIG MISTAKE. I have no idea what my nineteen-year-old brain was thinking when I registered. Several students in the class were Greek and they were as miserable as I was. I already knew the Cyrillic alphabet, so the Greek one wasn't difficult, but almost every word in classical Greek seemed to take up an entire line to write. Not only was I plagued with a constant case of writer's cramp, but I was afraid I would bankrupt myself just buying enough notepaper to do my homework. It didn't take me long to decide that the effort it was taking to learn a DEAD language was not worth it. I dropped the class.

I did sign up for Russian I again along with German I, but it was boring to start over, so I never bothered to go on. Also, it should be noted that our exams were almost always dictated and the professor was very partial to the name Анна (if memory serves correctly on the accent - pronounced Ánna). Guess how you say 'she' in Russian? Она. Pronounced Aná. Guess who constantly got the accent wrong and wrote Анна instead of Она (or vice versa)? In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if I got it wrong just now!

Anyway, back to German. Day one of German one. A delightful professor entered and wrote the words schießen and scheißen on the board. He turned to us and said, "For every vord in German spelled vis an 'ie' zere ist also a vord spelled vis an 'ei'. Schießen und scheißen. One means to shoot, ze ozzer means to shit. Never confuse ze two. End of lesson one." With that he left the room. All I could think was that this guy was awesome (and vaguely reminiscent of a high school Spanish teacher who had taught us to conjugate using a very rude word - but guess who can still conjugate a Spanish verb after all these years?)! Anyway, we were packing up our books when another professor came in. Apparently, Herr Cool Professor had been in the wrong room. Rather than that fun teacher, we had been assigned a linguistics expert who spoke seven languages and was (for some unknown reason) hellbent on getting us to pronounce the word 'nicht' correctly. He would spend countless hours of class time making us repeat words and sentences until he thought our pronunciation was 'up to snuff'. I still remember the day he made us say 'Diese Klasse ist so langweilig'. You know why I still remember that day and that sentence? Because truer words were never spoken in any language!!! (If you don't speak German, it means 'This class is so boring'.)

Additionally, he required us to spend several hours a week in the language lab, supposedly listening to tapes of German pronunciation. Yeah right. I would go to the lab, sign in for the required amount of time and insert my own cassette tape (yes, I know that dates me) in the machine, rather than the one given to me by the monitor. There was no way I was going to sit and listen to 'Wie ist die Suppe heute? Die Suppe ist heiß.' for an hour. Frankly, I didn't give a hoot if the freaking soup was hot. My only concession to his requirement was that I would listen to a German band, such as Accept or the Scorpions and watch carefully for the proctor so I could lower the volume when they passed.

Anyway, when registration time for the next semester came, you can bet your sweet bippy that I looked for Herr Cool Professor's class. I was never so happy in college as when I was in his class. He came from a Russian speaking family in East Berlin and had ridden his bicycle across to the west as the Russian army was stringing chicken wire across Berlin to mark the site of the future wall. How awesome is that? After the careful, well-spoken accent of the linguistics professor, Herr Cool Professor's slangy Russian/East Berlin accent was refreshing. And as long as he could understand what we were saying, he wasn't overly picky about our accent. And we learned.

I never missed one of his classes, despite the fact that the simple dialog sentences of German I quickly gave way to readings about the economics of the Weimar Republic in German II (who comes up with these syllabuses?). I also blew the curve for the rest of the class. What can I say? I was having fun. In school! Sadly, it's been so many years since I used any of my languages (other than Spanish) that I'm afraid my German vocabulary is limited to what I call Goth German (vampires, death, grave, etc.) because of some music I listen to and my Russian vocabulary is almost non-existent. It's true what they say, if you don't use it, you lose it.

But I think the real lesson to be taken from all this is that students will learn when they identify with the material and/or the teacher. My German teacher was probably thirty or forty years older than me, but I adored his class, and (not that I'm advocating or condoning the use of profanity in class - at least by the teachers) that high school Spanish teacher of mine sure taught me how to conjugate verbs in a way that stuck.

I highly recommend Mark Twain's essay "The Awful German Language". Even if you've never studied German, you'll appreciate his wit, but for those who speak and/or have studied German, you'll probably laugh your butt off!

Genealogy Rant

Since I wrote about genealogy in my last post, I figured I might as well add a few rants, as well. If anyone is considering researching their roots, you may want to take note of these things.

• Family Lore/Myths/Legends: Begin with the assumption that these are all FALSE. Approach them as you would a theorem you were trying to disprove. This way, you'll be pleasantly surprised if they're true, but you won't be overly disappointed when your ancestor turns out not to have been: an Indian princess, a Revolutionary War hero, landed on the shores of America on a boat made of banana leaves after their ship was attacked by an infamous pirate, or pretty much anything other than someone trying to persevere through the difficult and trying times humans have faced throughout history.
• Other Researcher's Trees: Don't rely on trees that others have created without verifying the details for yourself. Chances are that your four times great grandmother did not have twenty children from the age of thirteen through fifty-five. I can't believe how many trees I find that attribute children to women who were most likely well past child-bearing age (or in some extreme cases - death). Even if she hadn't gone through menopause yet, the odds of becoming pregnant decreased substantially as she aged (and of course, became impossible after she died), making it unlikely that she had those eight kids while in her forties and fifties. Chances are that some of those late in life or postmortem children were actually grandchildren.
• Spelling: Look, it's more than likely that you have a number of illiterate ancestors in your tree. It doesn't mean they were stupid. Times were tough. Many of them either had no opportunity to get an education or were forced by circumstances to leave school in order to help the family survive by going to work. Keeping this in mind, don't be surprised when the spelling of your family's name changes from one census to another. Your ancestor may have not known how to spell or the census taker may have spelled it wrong (just 'cause they were taking the census didn't mean they were good spellers), particularly in the case of ethnic names that were being pronounced for them by immigrants. If a German pronounced a 'w' as a 'v', your census taker may have transcribed a 'v'. I wouldn't waste time pondering the mystery of why they changed their name. It could just be spelling. And then there's the famous story of lazy immigration officers who changed names to make them easier to spell or pronounce. I'm not sure how much of that I believe; it may have been a contributing factor, but I tend to think a lot of it was due to communication difficulties.
• Census Errors: Census takers were human. They made mistakes. Some were lazy. I found an ancestor who was listed as married (and her husband was there, too) for one year. Her age? Two. Now, maybe it's just me but ... really? Two? I know they married younger back then, but that's just ridiculous. What's worse is that the particular census in question listed both the age and the year and still got it wrong, making me believe the the census taker only asked for ages and then determined year off of that later on. (For the record, she was 21.) Keep a calculator handy and check things out for yourself. Also, keep in mind, that the age could be wrong by at least one year in either direction, depending on the actual birth date of your ancestor and the date on which the census was taken.
• Ethnic Makeup: Be prepared to find an unexpected ethnicity or nationality in your tree, especially in America, where different immigrant groups met and lived in similar areas. Don't bemoan the lack of 'purity' in your line (what a silly concept, we are all human, that is the only thing that matters). Embrace the fact that varying the gene pool makes for healthy babies - and has made you the person you are today!
• Birthplace: I was astonished when I began researching my tree that none of my ancestors seemed to know where they were born! The state/country sometimes changed from one census to another. I chalk most of this up to a mistake by the census taker or the fact that counties/states were still dynamic and being created. Someone may have been born in one state or county, only to have it turn into a different state when the borders changed. As for differing countries, I tend to think it was census taker error or laziness, although imagine what will happen a hundred years from now when people of Eastern European descent try to research their trees. It wasn't too long ago that the walls in former Communist countries came down and countries returned to their original, pre-Soviet influence borders. I can only wonder what the effect of all that will be on future genealogists.
• Your Ancestors May Have Been Liars: I don't mean malicious liars. I had a grandmother that tried to pronounce her Irish name in an Anglican way. Times were tough for the Irish then and she was just trying to help her family survive. Also, keep in mind, that coming to America was a way for many to start over. Stigmas that may have been attached to a certain name could be avoided in America by using a different name, especially if they were living in an Ethnic community that may not have known them, but might know the history of their name. I read once that some Italians changed their names because they emigrated prior to completing mandatory military service (I have no idea if that's true, but it's an example of why your ancestor may have lied).
• Pleasant Surprises: Every once in a while, fate throws you a bone. I found the name of my second great grandfather's mother on his marriage certificate. I was disappointed at first because the spelling and pronunciation was so bizarre that I was certain it was a transcription error by a city clerk. I tried looking up the name I thought it might be with little success. I then tried the actual bizarre spelling from the record and lo and behold there she was! It made it easier to trace her parents' names, as well, since the spelling was so unusual.
• Peripheral Family Members: Don't ignore brothers and sisters of your direct ancestors. Some people only list their direct line, however, I found at least one great-something grandmother's maiden name by finding the grandmother living with my direct ancestor's sibling on a census. If I'd only looked at my direct ancestor's records, I would not have found her.

Enjoy researching your tree. It can give you a great appreciation for certain historical periods and events that you may have cared little before in the past. Plus, it's actually kind of fun - so long as you're not counting on finding a famous general or member of royalty/nobility.

Haunted by Genealogy

I became interested in my family tree about three years ago. Sadly, my father (God rest his soul) was already quite ill and unable to answer my questions. I would give anything to be able to go back and ask him more about his youth.

He was born in the mountains of southwest Virginia and the family moved to coal mining territory in West Virginia when he was very young. I do remember some stories: about the family legend that his grandfather (as a boy back in Virginia) was in his front yard when Jesse James came through the town and shot a bullet into the fence, about how everything in the West Virginia town was coated in a fine layer of coal dust, about he and his brothers would shuck peas by putting them in baskets and rolling them down the mountain - much to his mother's chagrin, and about how he and his brothers were feeding the chickens on a neighboring farm at the same time as an escape from a prison camp nearby and when they went to feed them, heard a noise and called out, "who's there?" only to have a voice say, "nobody but us chickens" causing them to run screaming for the hills (literally). How much of it all is true, I'll never know.

What I do know is that doing his family tree gave me a huge sense of appreciation for what his ancestors did. They settled in the New World before there was a United States. Almost every one of my paternal ancestors from the late 1700s is listed as a patriot on the Daughters of the American Revolution rolls, including at least one or two who actually fought in the military. The family history is filled with Indian massacres, abductions (including at least one direct ancestor who was kidnapped by the Indians in the late 1700s - Cherokee by family accounts but could have been Shawnee, too, and returned to white civilization with her Indian child in tow), railroad accidents, and other trials related to westward expansion.

When I started watching Justified - finally got the DVDs this past year, I was surprised to realize that I had an ancestor born in Harlan, KY, the county where the show takes place. I haven't been back to the mountains of West Virginia in more years than I care to count and I was only ever a visitor, but I still find myself nostalgic for it. For the family bibles with generations of ancestors listed, for the photo albums full of pictures of loved ones in their caskets (something that the Appalachians share with my maternal Irish ancestors), for my grandmother's cooking, for traipsing up the side of a mountain only to step in an ant's nest and have to run screaming back to the house, and for an extended family that spanned generations and I've completely lost touch with. And like many others who came from the coal mining region, Grandpa got his black lung check 'til the day he died, and he and my grandmother made sure they sent all their children to college so they could get out.

My advice to everyone is sit with your grandparents or aging parents now and get all you can from them regarding your family roots. Otherwise, the day you decide you want to know where you come from, it may already be too late.

Life Imitating Art: Why cats make it so hard to write

Do I really need to expand upon that? This is dedicated to anyone who thinks that my cats don't help me write! Actually, I write despite my cats not because of them. They are of the opinion that there's nothing wrong with a "+++6.;l" in the middle of a book. In fact, I probably should have typed all of Mrowley the cat's (from The Lost Mage and The Lightning Caller) dialogue that way. Of course, only other computer users that are also cat lovers would have understood.

It should also be noted that their very cat essence means they must stand, arch their backs in a cat yoga stretch, and spin around several times before laying back down in the SAME EXACT position they were in before they got up. (Two of them did exactly that in the frustratingly long time it took me to type that sentence around their cat antics.)

Someone thought this picture looked good enough to recreate. Actually, this is a daily occurrence, although usually that gray paw is extended off the edge where it rests on the keyboard, adding the occasional 'f' or 'g' to words. I'm not sure what my desk looks like without its 'cat covering' anymore.

Never Thought I'd Miss the East German Judge

Hmm, Olympic competition has changed. I used to love watching the gymnastics. The All-Around was fun, but back in the days of the Cold War, the team competition was the one I liked. Not that the United States ever had much success. We just couldn't compete with a system that took promising young athletes and offered (okay - offered is probably not the right word, but you get the picture) them state-sponsored training. Of course, we in the decadent West spread rumors that their families would be harmed if they didn't do well - that's (probably) an exaggeration, but I'm pretty sure there were plenty of real incentives for them to do well.

Anyway, when the Wall came down, many of the successful coaches and athletes from the sport emigrated to the West, to the benefit of our gymnasts.

All of that aside, though, watching gymnastics today is a completely different animal. The sport has completely changed, and though I love watching them do those big tricks, I miss the days of artistry and expression in the dance, especially on the floor. Too many times these days, it appears that they're just waving their arms around in between tumbling passes and none of it has anything at all to do with the music they've selected. I mean when I'm pretty sure I could dance better, something's wrong.

And then there's the move from team to specialists. So you now have a gymnast who is only really good on one event on the team. I don't know - just doesn't seem to meet the spirit of a team competition. In the good old days, you had six team members and ALL SIX performed on every piece of apparatus. Sure, you dropped the lowest score, but that still meant that five of the six had to hit and do it well to win. As a spectator, I understood what was going on, what was good and what was bad. They even had to do compulsory exercises. That was a true measure of the mastery of basic skills. Everyone did the same routine, and it counted toward the overall team score.

Nowadays, you have only five girls, not all of whom are required to perform on all events. And one day, they drop a score, the next they all count. I don't like it. I feel completely disconnected with the new scoring system. I understand it, I just don't like it. I know they felt the need to distinguish more difficult skills from those doing simpler routines, but frankly, I miss the artistry of a simpler, very clean routine. Heck, I can't even follow some of the moves now. I sit there thinking was that two twists or three? And how many times did they flip?

Now that I've bashed the sport itself, it's time for the coverage. In the 2012 Olympic All Around, the last American went and they showed the team waiting ... waiting ... and waiting. I'm there holding my breath along with the girls. Finally, they announce that the Americans won the gold, but they NEVER showed Alexandra Raisman's score! We actually had to go look it up on-line.

So, why do I miss the East German judge? Because I'm sorry to say I miss Soviet era competition. The perfection of the Communist gymnasts was amazing. Of course, I'm sure that the East Germans knew that beating the Soviets would probably result in the leveling of East Berlin or something, but they tried to beat everyone else (as witnessed by an East German judge getting a half point taken off the American's score in the '88 Olympics, costing them the bronze medal).

I'm still amazed at the effect the Communist Bloc had on everything. I can't help but think that a twenty-year old who watches When Harry Met Sally these days won't have a clue as to what Harry is talking about when he shares his dream in which the East German judge gave him poor marks on his performance based on his dismount (if I'm remembering the dialog correctly).

I also loved reading Cold War novels: LeCarre, Buckley and Deighton ... awesome. And let's not forget one of my favorite movies of all time: Gotcha. If you've never seen it, I highly recommend it. I especially love the civil service workers on both sides of the Wall.

So, gymnastics these days? I can't quite rate it cool beans. Maybe frigid beans, but those are still cold, which is similar to cool. Tell you what, I'll give it cool beans, and we'll add frigid beans to show all of the difficulty, but then there are tons of hot beans for things such as, not allowing us to see all of the top gymnasts in the all-around competition because of limit per country rules, for a scoring system that you need an advanced degree or years of experience to understand, for stealing a silver medal from the British team and for horrible media coverage that makes it nearly impossible to follow what's really going on.

Oh yeah, and someone tell the media to stop televising the agonized faces of athletes that have experienced an injury, a mistake, a lost race, a fall ... whatever. Give them some privacy!

Mr. Bean at the Olympics!

So, I was watching the London Olympic opening ceremonies last night ... I have to confess that these types of shows are not really my thing. I love watching the competitions, but the ceremonies? Not so much.

Anyway, they announce that the orchestra will be playing the theme from Chariots of Fire and I immediately yawn. Boring ... or so I thought. Don't get me wrong, I actually like orchestras. I'm a fan of classical music and had they said the orchestra would be performing the Brandenburg Concertos or something, I'd have been excited about it. But this particular piece is not one of my favorites.

The orchestra begins playing and the cameras pan in on a musician seated in front of a keyboard and ... it's Mr. Bean! How awesome is that? Now I'm sitting straight up, completely rapt in the scene before me. I LOVE Mr. Bean (and Rowan Atkinson in general, loved him in Black Adder and The Thin Blue Line). And it was classic Mr. Bean. The look on his face when he flipped his sheet music over only to see that he had one note to play throughout the whole piece while the pianist next to him was jamming away (and kudos to that guy for keeping it together with Mr. Bean next to him) was absolutely priceless. I think that's one of the things I loved most about Rowan Atkinson playing Mr. Bean - his ability to act almost exclusively with his facial expressions, a great talent in my opinion.

Also, the queen and 007 parachuting into the stadium was pretty cool.

To conclude, great to see you again, Mr. Bean - one of the coolest beans ever!

The Good ... ahem ... Bad Old Days: Radio Stations

Having lived through the transition to the digital age, every once in awhile, I am struck by how much different ... and most times better ... aspects of everyday life are now than they were just a mere twenty plus years ago.

I will attempt to convey my feelings on those from time to time. Today's realization was about radio stations. Nowadays, if you hear a song you like, many of you can simply check the handy-dandy digital display of the device streaming your radio station to see the name of the song and the band performing it. Very nice when you hear a new song you like and you'd like to hear again. Me likey ... very much.

When I was a kid (and no, I'm not about to regale you with tales of walking to and from school uphill in both directions that would lead you to believe that, by the time I graduated school, I surely must have lived in some sort of angelic villa located in the heavens because nobody could consistently walk uphill that much and still be earthbound), radio was so much different. For starters, my first car only had an AM radio (it's okay ... you may gasp at the horror of it all). That meant news radio and talk radio, maybe a pop station if you were lucky. But where was a hard rock junkie like me to get music from? I couldn't afford a car stereo at first, so I settled for an FM converter. That was a little piece of junk that let me get FM stations and a lot of static through my AM radio. It sucked.

When I hit my early twenties, I was finally able to buy a car stereo (and there was much rejoicing ... trust me). Now I could make cassette tapes (CDs came a short time later, but it was years before I could burn one) to listen to my favorite music in the car because I found, with very few exceptions, that the FM stations played the same songs over and over (read that as the Beatles, the Who, Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones). Hell, they even had Fab Four weekends when they would advertise that that was what they were playing!

My only true happiness was over the weekends when the college radio stations would play real heavy metal and hard rock (and of course, there was the MTV Headbangers Ball on Saturday nights, too).

But I digress, the true revelation this morning was due to the fact that in 'the old days', when you heard a new song on the radio that you liked, you had to sit through blocks of music until the DJ came back on the air to announce the songs that had been played. This invariably meant listening to songs you didn't like - you didn't dare change the station because that surely meant the DJ would cut in with the information.

Nowadays, even if your listening device doesn't display the name of the song, you can note the time and go to the radio station's website to look up the artist and name of the song that they were playing at that time. Do you have any idea how great that is? Do you know how many times I would not have been late for work or class if we'd had that back then?

So, new innovations in radio/web technology? Frozen Beans! (That's cool beans +++)

Black Art, an Awesome Beer

Last summer, I noticed a beer in the corner of my local distributor. I am always in search of new beers that seem interesting and this one was well-priced, too. I picked up a six pack and I've been drinking it ever since (not that same six-pack as it was gone pretty quickly).

It's called Black Art. There is a Gold variety, but I'm not a fan of lighter beers, so I stick to the Black Art Dark.

I'd try and describe the flavor for you, but frankly, I only judge beers in terms of love/like/dislike/hate. Occasionally, I notice some flavorings, such as coffee, vanilla or cinnamon, but mostly not. And don't get me started on wines. I've gone on these wine tasting tours and the proprietors are going on about oak barrels vs. steel ones and wood flavoring (here's hoping that refers to those oak barrels they mentioned because I'm not keen on drinking trees), but my taste buds are only putting out yum/mm/eh/yuk responses.

Anyway, back to Black Art. Check out the history on their website. This beer has survived World Wars, Soviet Occupation and German Reunification! Definitely worth checking out.

Why Must Dogs Eat Everything?

Okay, I have a blog for cute cat pictures, a blog for my Siamese cats, a blog about green cleaning, my author's blog, and of course, Fred's Evil Plan to Take Over the World. It's too much to keep track of which has resulted in my not posting, so I've decided to compile all of my random thoughts and remarks about my interests in one spot.

Why cool beans and cats? Well, cool beans is one of my favorite expressions and I love cats so ...

As for Fred's Evil Plan, sadly after a year of problems, he has now been diagnosed with diabetes. I confess to feeling like I'd be jinxing his delicate health to post in his blog right now.

I've been busy taking care of Fred and Daphne, the epileptic dog who, by the way, managed to get hold of a bunch of velcro wire tires last night and proceeded to chew, mangle and eat them. After frantic calls to the Emergency vet (why does this stuff always happen on the weekends), we gave her hydrogen peroxide so she'd throw up - which she did. Her dinner ... her snack ... some grass ... but no velcro! It now seems that she probably only chewed them into the unrecognizable remains we found. Nonetheless, we sat outside with the dog-slobbered remains trying to reconstruct the original strips to at least get a count.

But that brings me to the question of the day. Why must dogs eat EVERYTHING? I mean, really. Velcro? Maybe it's the taste - no, I don't think that velcro could taste good, even to a dog. Perhaps it was the wonderful feel of the little velcro hooks on her tongue? Nah, I can't see that texture being pleasing to any living being with working nerves and taste buds. So velcro joins a long list of chewed up household items: 3 telephones, the plug and cord for my curio cabinet, the slats from the Futon, the frame of my bay window, the coffee table legs and the sofa cushions.

In an attempt to further understand this issue, I have taken a canine poll. Now admittedly, my sample size is very small, having limited myself to polling dogs of my acquaintance (both of necessity due to availability and of a fear of asking strange dogs silly questions about their consumption habits), but the uniformity of the responses leads me to believe that the margin of error in this poll is so small as to be insignificant.

Human Reasons to Eat Something:

• Hunger
• It tastes good
• Stress
• Nutrition
• On a dare

If you exclude the ludicrous (and quite possibly testosterone-driven) response of 'on a dare', you'll note that the human responses were either indicative of very sound reasoning, e.g. hunger and nutrition, for enjoyment, or due to some other psychological factor.

Now for the dogs:

• Because it was there
• It fell on the floor, I'm supposed to eat everything on the floor
• It was there
• It was in my way
• It was there

You'll notice a recurrent theme in the dog responses, all of which more or less say the same thing.

After completing the survey, it became apparent to me that the problem wasn't with y dogs, it was with me. I shouldn't expect human logic from a canine. This new revelation should keep me satisfied for a day or two, at which time I will most certainly go back to attempting to apply human reasoning to canine behavior. You cannot teach an old human new tricks.