Brain Yoga. Not only is philosophy a comfort through the vissictitudes (did I spell that right?) of life, but it’s also…Brain Yoga!!! I should design a Discovery Store package. But no Plato. I hate that m@#@&&$%. Sure, one side of his mouth is all about platonic friendships, but you check ou the other side of […]

What if…? Short story ideas suck right now. Hey. Why does my brain flood with these things now, when I’m trying to write a freakin’ novel? Hm…that might make a decent short story, actually.

The Smoking Project. So every day Lee makes it through without smoking, he puts three bucks in a jar to go towards computer equipment. (I wonder if I could do that with writing? Well, sure. But–?) And every day I ask him: How did you do today? If he made it, I’ll say, “Thank you.”

Heh. All ye English majors, check out the Tolkein parodies here. Here’s an example: Eowyn felt her heart flutter when she saw him. His raven hair flew in the breeze off the plain, and his piercing eyes caught her gaze as if by magic. He bore a kingly attitude; surely he was a prince. Her

Down with the…bloooork! Lee had food poisoning over New Year’s. Well. Turns out it’s not food poisoning if your daughter has it, too, and she wasn’t with you at the all-mite Nexican place. There are actually a couple of clean blankets left. No pillows, no sheets, but one lovely (and mostly naked) daughter who feels

Writing Stuff. Here’s the resolution for the new year: Finish the first draft on one (1) novel. I know, this isn’t too impressive for those who’ve finished their novels during the November NaNoWriMo project–one novel, one month (why November, I’ll never know). Nevertheless. Hm…this ramble can wait. Something smells suspicious, and I’ll bet you a

Achievements. Ray can climb on top of the toilet now. And, using a chair, gain the tabletop.

Frutration. I’ve been frustrated lately, and it’s getting to the point where I’m getting cynical. Again. Cynicism is when you lose trust in the whole world, right? I spent a lot of today talking to Joe’s mom (out from Davenport, IA, to attend a Broncos game Joe won in a contest at work). It was

Santa Claus. Maybe this is just too much sugar-coated goodwill for you. What are you, some kind of Nazi? I was six or seven when I found out that Santa Claus wasn’t “real.” Two bullies a grad older than me spent a day tracking down little kids and mocking them for believing in such a

Early Christmas present. I took a look at the pile of presents on the table (ostensibly out of reach) for our daughter, and said, Oh, the hell with it. We unwrapped this toddler’s computer game and loaded it up: almost everything is set up so you can make something happen just by banging on the