Hooray! Gaaack!

Potentially Useful Quote of the Day: “Publicity can be terrible. But only if you don’t have any.”

~Jane Russell

My Awesome Friend Ruth who is a Newspaper Writer and who henceforth shall be called Awesome Writer Friend Ruth got me some “chill” time with Debra The Connected One who seems to know anyone in the business of broadcasting things. Picture Tony of The Sopranos only blond, and …OK…Debra has hair and is not male…but you can kind of understand the metaphor, right? She’s in the BizNess…bro.

Because Southeast had been my Divine Place of Inspiration (meaning I went there for over a month, 5 days a week, sat in their Media Center, and tapped on my keyboard for hours) I had met Debra The Connected One whilst birthing Scared Silly. She said to call her when the book was done… I thought she was just being nice…but she wasn’t. (One Slight Problem: Somehow I thought her name was Cindy or Susan. You can, of course, see that these names are easily confused with Debra…they all are of the feminine gender and made up of two syllables and have vowels in them.)

Thus, with Awesome Writer Friend Ruth's help, it came to pass that I found myself sitting next to Debra The Connected One in her office politely laughing about my misnaming her while we looked over a list of potential names, local media companies, and phone numbers that could take one’s breath away. Which it did. Specifically mine.

I sat gasping for air as she said "stress-relieving" things like: “OK, We’ll call Stations X, Y, and Z…they’ll love having you on their morning shows. Paper X might put you in the Religious section…but I think we could get you into the Features because this is such a huge topic. I know people in the Health Care Industry…why don’t we get some speaking gigs at their weekly health nights. And if we build up your credibility, I’ll call my friend from the Speaker’s Bureau In A Larger City Not Near Here…and if you get in his stable…boy you’ll just be everywhere.”

What happened to Youtube.com and podcasting and unshoweredness?

Hooray?! and Gaaack! at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

What do THEY know, anyway?

According to the Center for Disease Control, the Average American Woman weighs 164.3 pounds.

Several questions come to mind:
a) What do they mean by "average"?
1) Who is this woman? Is she offended at being called "average" by an organization that specializes in things like the measles and male patterned baldness?
b) Why is the Center for Disease Control involved with her?

1) it is a conspiracy or just an uncomfortable friendship?

c) Should we, Spectacular American Women (because we're definitely NOT AVERAGE) be concerned?

1) or just jealous?

WAAAAYYY above average at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Another Useful Thing For the Fretful

Frownies

Key phrase: "Sure they look silly, but who cares if you just sleep in them?"

do the have it in Industrial Strength? at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Too Much Like Me

Potential Quote of the Day: "Don't Panic."

~Douglas Adams

I’ve seen myself reflected in the most horrible of ways…

No, it wasn’t in a warped Wal-mart mirror during an ego-bashing swimsuit search.

Nor was it in an Extra Large Diet Coke after a sleepless night.

It was in the eyes of my terrified daughter during a panic attack.

Oh dear God, how I prayed for this day to never come! Her shallow breathing, her pale face and big eyes, her tears. “I’ve stopped thinking about the future,” she whispered several nights ago. “Because…I’m afraid…I…won’t…have...one...”

This wasn’t her first attack. That one came while she was in Tennessee with Kevin. He performed masterfully, talking her down and finally to sleep. The next day, true to her yammerful-ness, she gave me a blow-by-blow. We chalked it up to unruly hormones. Bad hormones. Baaaad.

But as I held her during the next two nights, desperately trying to put into practice all of the stupid things I had just written a book about…it all felt so insipid. Nothing…no logic…no prayer…no cheerleading…no scripture quotation…nothing could reach her as she waited to die.

She didn’t, of course. But being a wise and caring mom, and...wanting someone else to have to deal with it, I made an appointment with Megh’s Doctor. Well, we couldn’t actually see him because he was on vacation, blissfully unaware of our great need. Instead we were assigned the Substitute Pediatrician. Just want we needed: the B-team to help the precious fruit of my loin fight the biggest thing in her near-teenage life.

The Substitute Pediatrician swept in, listened briefly, performed a perfunctory listening to her heart and lungs and then made his pronouncement which was both amazingly helpful and stunningly profound:

“Do you have (insert list of panic symptoms here)?” Megh nodded emphatically, surprised he knew her so well. “We I think you’re fine and that you’ve got ‘stressed out.’ It's called a "Panic Attack." And I just want you to know that I see so many girls and boys about your age for this very same thing.”

With one phrase, the Substitute Pediatrician not only reinforced everything both Kevin and I said, but somehow, made it into a Magic Wand of Sorts and made everything better. Really.

In fact he made it so better that Megh announced upon leaving that she was hungry and wanted to celebrate her Newly Renewed Lease On Life with Burger King Chicken Fries and Onion Rings. Value sized.

I love that girl.

she's obviously my daughter at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Panic Person's Shopping Dream

This.

Will take a gross at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

I Have to READ It?

Good Quote of the Moment: “I just wrote a book, but don’t go out and buy it yet, because I don’t think it’s finished yet.” Lawrence Welk

Must read Scared Silly yet again. Lynn the Nice Lady Editor says it’s the absolutely last time I will have to do this so I must read it very carefully. But apparently not too carefully…because they really can’t change much now that it’s been laid out for printing. Go figure. Maybe I’ll read it with one eye shut.

As to this being the absolutely last time I will have to read Scared Silly…I have my doubts. I just re-read it a month ago for “flow,” and then a month before that during which I had to answer a bunch of “questions.” In case you’re wondering, when someone like Lynn the Nice Lady Editor has “questions,” it means she has areas of your manuscript that you’re totally sick of that are near and dear to your heart that needs “attention,” or that needs “clarification,” or that needs “fixing,” or that just “sucks” and needs “help.”

Side thought: You’d think that, with the amount of times I’ve read this thing, and being that I wrote it, some of the wisdom therein would sink into my thick skull and I’d be the Most! Adventurous! Person in the World! Ever!

Sigh…I guess I’ll have to read it again. With both eyes open, next time.

Needing serious caffeine at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Saint Kevin

Potentially helpful quote of the Day: "You know your children are growing up when they stop asking you where they came from and refuse to tell you where they’re going." P.J. O'Rourke

My daughter reached another milestone in becoming (to mis-quote Dave Barry) an Adult Woman of the Female Gender.

This is the milestone that is reached over and over and over again, month after month, if you get my drift.

She was not home when she came upon this milestone.

I was not with her.

Her dad was.

She was rather unprepared, as it were.

He is officially a saint.

Boy, did he earn it at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Open Email To Those Who Love Me #2

So…remember how stressed I was that I might have to be my own Shameless Commerce Division for “Scared Silly”?

Remember how difficult and scary it felt?

And how I was going to trust God to take care of getting “Scared Silly” into the hands that needed it because, after all, it was his assignment in the first place and I really, really wanted him to be in charge of it?

Well, I lied.

Not that asking for prayers and ideas was a bad thing. They came pouring in after my last whiny email and offered a plethora of possibilities that seemed plausible and yet totally safe, I mean extremely creative.

Things like:

Making some spots and posting them on YouTube.com..

Making one of the chapters (or part of a chapter) into a Podcast, offering it for free, and then encouraging people to buy the book to get the rest…

Sending a copy to Oprah and Ellen…because…you never know…

Several friends have agreed to let me put the book and the link onto their website…(Thank you Website Owning Friends!)…

Many offered various connecting points (counseling orgs, publishing orgs/seminars, book clubs, etc.)…

And Kristen (who is like a Sister/Daughter) offered to design a website and who shall from hereafter be known as Kristen the Rocking Sister/Daughter because designing a website was so overwhelming that it made me want to pull clumps of Internet-challenged ergo overloaded and twitching brain cells out of my nose with a bendy-straw.

Thanks for all ya’ll’s prayers and thoughts…they were/are wonderful…

But…

Maybe you should stop now.

Because…

I think God is taking you seriously.

OK…Let me just say I thought I was stressed about “doing-it-yourself” pimping, but I was wrong…

Friday brought an email from Standard’s Marketing Lady, Rebekah Stewart, who is, I’m sure, a very nice lady and who said, (and I quote):

Hi Marcy,

I wanted to let you know that we have secured a publicist for Scared Silly. Joni Baker from Buoyancy PR will be handling all aspects of publicity for your title (press release, securing interviews and reviews). I have already given her your contact information and I’m sure she will be contacting you shortly to “get the ball rolling”. As always, if you have any marketing questions, feel free to contact me directly. Thanks.

Let us bow our heads and join with me in saying, “EEEEEEEKKKKKKK!!!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN ALL ASPECTS and SECURING INTERVIEWS! Diet COOOKE! I NEED AN IV! STAT!!

There you have it.

I’m maybe your only friend who is so transparent about being completely fickle. In case you missed it—apparently I can’t be pleased: First haranguing and complaining about not having someone to be in charge of shamelessly commercing this book…and then, after God graciously setting up a Proper Book Pimp, I’m freaking about what she will make me DO!

(I should have known that God had something up his sleeve when I felt like all of my Friend-Generated Ideas were cool AND do-able.)

I hope this Book Pimp Lady actually reads “Scared Silly” so she knows just what kind of wacko she’s dealing with.

BTW: You probably ought to keep praying…God only knows what’s coming next (of course he does!). I’ll probably have to fly.

More than once.

And change planes.

In Chicago.

I bet I’ll even have to shower, too.

I need a Diet Coke.

And some chocolate.

Gratefully, even though it doesn’t sound like it today at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Open Letter to Any Friends Who Find This Site:

It's Memorial Day and I'm typing instead of BBQing...partly because I am a
bad BBQer, but partly because I'm fretting...

Last week I talked to Lynn, the Editing Diva at Standard Publishing who is working on “Scared Silly.” You may not remember—assuming you have a life—I wrote a book last year, which has taken nearly another year to finish and print.

As I type this, we (“we” meaning the Editing, Proofreading, Correcting, and Typesetting team at Standard…and me when 1) they need to get approval for all of their changes; 2) something needs footnoting; or 3) some section is deemed so hideous that I must rewrite it) are in the final stages of correcting, proofreading, more correcting, layout, more proofreading and correcting before sending to the printer. Target release date is September 1^st.

During the aforementioned conversation with Lynn, the Editing Diva at Standard I began to sense that, although Standard Publishing publishes a lot of books, they don’t really market them much. They mainly offer them in their catalog or on their website or sell them to Amazon.com or other regional/local booksellers…and that’s all.

So when it became apparent that I might have to be my own publicist, I immediately thought of you and your ability to pray. OK…That’s not completely true. My first panicky thought was how badly I suddenly had to go to the bathroom (typical in my struggle against Panic Disorder), then I thought about needing a Diet Coke (at least!), and THEN I thought about how badly I needed prayer, which brought me directly to you.

Here’s the deal: Being my own publicist is about as horrifying a thought as I can imagine for a multitude of reasons that I won’t bore you with—not the least of which I would have to PERSUADE PEOPLE TO LET ME TRAVEL TO PUBLIC PLACES—maybe even ON AN AIRPLANE, DO SOMETHING PUBLIC, possibly NOT NEAR A BATHROOM (like book signings or interviews) and GET PEOPLE TO LIKE ME.

However, I REALLY want “Scared Silly” to get into the hands of people who need it…which can’t be done if I don’t get it into the hands of people who can let other people know about it. (Boy, I could use a Diet Coke!)

In August Standard can provide me with an electronic photo of the cover and a sample chapter. Lynn the Editing Diva at Standard suggested I email it to people (or post it on their websites, if they let me), to taste test. This is one possible advertising ploy that wouldn’t require me flying OR showering. Which is good. But probably not good enough. Kev suggested I make a radio spot and see if we can get it on some Christian stations. So I now have two showerless ideas…but I can tell something bigger is needed. And that something includes you.

PLEASE PRAY that God will provide a network that can help make this book widely available. Pray that it can get into strategic hands like buyers at Wal-mart or Waldenbooks…or that radio host Delilah will read it, love it, and play the non-showered radio spot…or that Oprah would receive it and want to bring her crew to KY for a visit (OK…I’d go to Chicago for Oprah…).

You know me…Beyond asking for prayer and ideas…I pretty much suck at “pimping” myself. So there you go.

I understand that God gave me the assignment to write this book…so I believe he’ll help get it out to where ever he wants it to go…but I want to be faithful and adventuresome in the process as well. Even if it means traveling, speaking, and pitching myself.

Thanks for letting my panic before you. The good news: I’m not curled up in a fetal position…yet.

OK, now I really need another diet coke.

If you have any ideas, feel free to let me know. I appreciate them mucho.

More than anything thanks for your prayers. I really, really, really, REALLY need them.

And I probably need another diet coke, at least at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Come Make Me

Potential Wise Saying of the Day: "The nice part about being a pessimist is that you are constantly being either proven right or pleasantly surprised." ~George F. Will

What the @#*($*# Were You Thinking?

Potential Wise Saying for the Day: "It's far easier to forgive an enemy after you've got even with him." ~Olin Miller

In an effort of being a good mom and possibly winning one of these someday, I ventured into another state to take my daughter to a locally performed version of a Broadway hit musical. In the process almost hit some people with my car. OK, I didn't actually almost hit them perse' , I almost hit their minivan--while I was going almost 20 miles per hour. Because it was peeing down rain. Because I was about to take an erroneous exit. Because the Indiana highway system stinks.

One would think that, after spending 10 years in the midst of Houston traffic, navigating my way around with 4 million people -- 80% of whom are what a more prejudiced person might call "foreigners"-- that I would have experienced and overcome all possible Interstate Exit Scenarios. But no, Indiana wins the award for Most Confusing Use Of Concrete.

Keep in mind that Indiana is known for stunningly non-viable ideas. For example, New Harmony was a combo failure--started by a group who believed, in 1814, that the return of Jesus Christ was imminent--so they bought land on which to live simply and perfectly until the Big Day. After 10 years of waiting, they moved back to Pennsylvania apparently to be closer to this and these as oppose to these, some of which--I kid you not--are named after major drug companies.

And speaking of bad ideas, during the first two decades of the 2oth century, Indiana was the Manufacturing Center for the largest variety of failed vehicles in the history of mankind. Just four of the 200 names you have never heard of, unless you are a total car geek or my husband, according to my daughter's textbook on U.S. States are: Duesenburg, Auburn, Stutz, and Maxwell.

Most recently Indiana has become the most famous home of the totally uncool Indianapolis 500, according to Al "I'll Be Famous for Something" Gore.

Indiana has also taken the same intrepid approach to their interstate exits, branching several off at once, not really telling you where you are headed until you find yourself lost among the innards of their not-quite-revived downtown region which apparently consists of the entire state.

So it was, that at one of these double/triple peel off exits, I realized I was about to be ejected into the vast labyrinth of streets located on the wrong side of the highway with little or no hope to cross until we had missed the start of the the next millenium. Oh, and did I mention that it was torrentially raining?

As I tried to ease myself back into the next peel off exit lane, a Hunter Green Minivan comes up behind me and HONKS the entire time it passes me. In reality, I might have been in line to hit it, but I was ahead of her, with my blinker on to move over. On, and did I mention I was AHEAD OF HER?

Well, I took the proper peel off exit, even though it was poorly marked (So there! Indiana DOT!) and followed the now Angry Hunter Green Minivan to the Derby Dinner Playhouse to see the ex-Broadway musical presently performed by talented Indianians. We pulled in right behind them. I thought about parking next to them but thought better of it. Which was probably good.

The crowd of youthful, and apparently fashionable young people in the form of students were already entering the theater. For some strange, fateful reason the members of the Angry Hunter Green Minivan filed up to the line about the same time as we. I know they were members of said van because they all, from the 70-year-old grandma with bottle-bottom glasses, and the 40-something-year-old female driver with bottle-bottom glasses--and even their eyeglass-less 8-year-old boy stared angrily at me as they marched in front of Meghan and I through the door. They continued to propel the Evil Eye back through their skulls as they waited in front of us to purchase tickets. As I stepped up to do my little theater business, the bottle-bottomed eyeglass-wearing driver-mom stood just to my right with her newly gathered posse, openly and angrily gesturing in my direction.

If I had been a bigger person, I would have marched right up to her and apologized. Or I might have offered to buy them lunch. Or stopped them in the parking lot as we left and said something redemptive. But I didn't.

And as I left, I noticed she had a Christian "fish" sticker on her Angry Hunter Green Minivan. I, on the other hand, have a leftist "Life is good" on mine.

I might have gotten more grace had I cut in front of a pagan saab.

Beepbeep at marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

It's My Birthday and I'll....if I Want to...

"There is still no cure for the common birthday." ~John Glenn

Today is my birthday.

My husband is on the beach in California.

My daughter is spending the night at a friend's house.

I had planned to sit on my lazy patoosh with a nice glass of wine, some expensive chocolate, and a bag of Fritos, watching Nacho Libre or the behind the scenes of the original King Kong.

But instead I force fed my cat. Surprisingly, this activity was not born out of a sadistic desire but of necessity...she has stopped eating. Apparently cats will do that and then they can't start up again. So, to save her life we take something that smells and looks disturbingly like liver pate and a syringe and squirt several plunger's full down her unhappy throat. The whole process has gotten easier, which I'm not sure is a good thing. She doesn't fight much, nor does she throw up any more...but she just sits there and takes it. Not even when I retrieve her from under the bed...she just sits, resigned to her fate, as though even thinking about the struggle is too much effort. I wish she'd struggle just a little for that is one of the hallmarks of a cat--they are loners, walking to their own beat, or at least purposefully not walking to yours. They do what they need to do ONLY when they're good and ready to do it. And they pity the fool who tries to force them...their little razor claws and lightning fast reflexes can shred skin faster than, well, lightning. Our little Peanut was once the best and the quickest and possibly one of the largest of her breed. While prowling out of doors, she would bring home little ex-chipmunks, voles, birds, and mice just to show she could... In the house, however, she became simply The Stalker. I have caught her staring intensely at the oven as though she was trying to will it to turn on. Perhaps she was trying to conjure up her x-ray vision so as to see through the appliance, or attempting to focus all of the ESP energy from her self and all of her cat sisters to lift the giant scrap of metal out of the way of her quarry. Over the past 3 years, she has caught only two mice in the house: one was proudly placed under the coffee table in time for my surprise birthday party last year (And let me tell you, nothing says "Happy Birthday" like a dead mouse in the middle of a house full of people!) and the other we eventually found under the pedestal of our dining room table in "full-ripe" condition, if you get my, sniff, drift.

But trying to make my cat live isn't the only thing I did to celebrate the beginning of my 46th year on Planet Earth.

I also tried to download software from the internet to my computer. I know what you're thinking; you're thinking, "You idiot! Not on your birthday! It's emotional suicide!" Well, I just have one thing to say to you doubters of my technical prowess: Sebastian The Tech-Type Help Guy from Bombay (now called Mumbai) and I are now BFFs--we've even exchanged passwords and interesting data (Did you know that the population of city Bombay (now called Mumbai) and the entire population of Australia are roughly the same? OK Bombay/Mumbai is larger, but only just.) 3 hours, 20 minutes of my birthday were spent trying to protect my computer from viruses and infections. Halfway through I wanted to buy it a condom and say, "Just say 'no' to everyone."

But God brought to my house a lovely 50ish-degree day, blustery and spring-like after several weeks of biting cold while Kevin is in L.A. in the cold rain, proof that, even with everything (big or little) else, I must be his favorite

, I'm going for a walk in my polar bear pj bottoms because no one is here to tell me I can't; I'm having a diet coke and a handful of M&M's with peanuts and a handful of Cheetos too, in order to properly celebrate the me-ness that is.

birthday warning #3

"The best way to remember your wife's birthday is to forget it once."
E. Joseph Cossman

Birthday hour: three days 18 hours and thirty minutes...and counting.

Continuing the list of "joy-full-ness" includes:

*Trying to save my daughter's cat who is dead-set on starving to death;

*My husband is going to the Pacific Ocean for my birthday which also includes 6 other days while I freeze my middle-aging patoosh off amidst the frozen (but sadly snowless) bluegrass;

*It remains cold and snowless which is about as wonderful as being married and sexless or poor and homeless.

*This uplifting announcement concerning the state in which I live (by "state in which I live" I mean "Kentucky" as opposed to, say "confusion" or "panic" or "boring drivel") by the medical world. Thank you, citizens of Kentucky for making my heart healthy future a virtual impossibility.

hand over those freetos at marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Let's Get This Party Started

Potential wise saying of the day: "I ran three miles today. Finally I said, 'Lady take your purse.'" Emo Philips

It's February 1st - the beginning of my 46th year on Planet Earth.

So far in 2007:

I've got to go get checked out for Glaucoma.

My daughter's spine is twisting like a corkscrew.

Spent the equivalent of 15 bottles of medium-priced wine on matching my hair with my eyebrows.

Yesterday my Louis Vitton purse (it was a gift from a friend, obviously) was stolen.

The good news, some kind lady found my wallet minutes after some godless punk, I mean poor, misguided soul, tossed it out onto the middle of the street. We were all amazed at the fact that my credit cards, checkbook, bank card were there. Of course my cash, what precious little there was was gone along with my even more precious Starbucks gift cards - those pagans! And strangely enough my driver's license is also missing. Oh and did I mention that my new Louis Vitton purse is also gone.

Over and over we've thanked God that they only stole those few things. We were grateful in this manner because we are fashion morons. If we personally had known the value of the purse versus what the actual value of all of the cards in my wallet, we would have torn our clothes, screaming and writhing in rage. Had I understood what I was dragging around, kicking under bleachers, tossing it un-gently in the floorboard of my not-so-cleaned truck I would have, at the very least, chained the purse to my wrist the minute I unwrapped it. Or, more likely, stapled the thing to my thigh with a staple gun. Or perhaps, knowing my fashion moronicness, I would have simply put it into the closet in its little flannel bag and let it rot.

But no, I had to actually use the darn thing, blissfully ignorant that this flap of a cow's butt is worth more than my I make in 9 months as a radio personality...Ok so that's not saying so much about my salary...but still, you can gather that it's a boatload of cash.

But it's gone. Taken by someone who understood better than I the price a new Louis Vitton would bring on the street. I, to my credit, am wiser, albeit Vitton-less, person.

Happy Birthday to me.

Where I want to go for my next Vacation

Camp Dismal Hollow.

It's found in Virgina. Apparently, it's so bad no one takes pictures.

You'll have to scroll down about half way and look for P-66.

I am not making this up.

Great Artists vs. Christianity: The Ultimate Dichotomy?

Potential Thought of the Day: "I find it impossible to talk about what makes human beings human without recognizing that our most quintessential human quality is, paradoxically, that we contain--regardless of one's faith tradition--some spark or echo of the divine. For many, this is both manifest in and the source of our creativity...God left the earth unfinished so humankind could work its skill upon it. God left the electricity still in the cloud, the oil still in the earth. God left the rivers unbridged and the forests unfelled and the cities unbuilt. God gave humankind the challenge of raw materials--not the ease of finished things. God left the pictures unpainted and the music unsung and the problems unsolved, that human beings might know the joys and glories of creation."
Dr. Beryl Levinger

When you look down through history, it used to be that during a certain period of history the best of the best artists, thinkers, musicians, writers, scientists, or whatever were believers? Handel? Michaelangelo? Milton? Da Vinci? These guys changed their world through the use of their gifts for the glory of their God.

What happened?

When?

Why?

Hmmmmmm....

The Birthday, It is A-Comin'

Potential Wise Thought for the Day: "Well, birthdays are merely symbolic of how another years has gone by and how little we've grown. No matter how desperate we are that someday a better self will emerge, with each flicker of the candles on the cake, we know it's not to be, that for the rest of our sad, wretched pathetic lives, this is who we are to the bitter end. Inevitably, irrevocably; happy birthday? No such thing."
Jerry Seinfeld

6 weeks, 3 hours and 32 minutes until "45."

Why can't "Heroes" just be a bunch of stinkin' sandwiches

Possible Wise Saying of the Day: "Television: A medium. So called because it's neither rare or well done." Ernie Kovacs

I just watched show #7 of the first season of "Heroes" as research for a Super Secret Upcoming Project.

It sucks.

"Heroes," not the Super Secret Upcoming Project.

I'm fine that these "yobbos" have super powers. I'm especially glad that the cute little Japanese guy does, and the smexy little nurse man, and to my own surprise, the cheerleader. I wish I had the cheerleader's powers. No, actually I think all parents wish their kids had the Cheerleader's Powers. It would offer them better sleep at night.

So I'm OK with the premise. I like several of the characters. The writing is intriguing and the way they cut up the various "acts" for each show as well as the "Acts" of the actual story is very cool.

It's just not funny enough. I know what you're thinking, but I don't care. I think there should be just a tad more humor; a touch more joy or even happiness....or even a kiss of sunshine. Instead it's getting darker and sadder with less and less "sunshine or something, for heaven's sake.

I'm not asking for much: Out of a 40 minute show I think that 7 minutes at least should be uplifing, or sort of encouraged. But no. I feel angry to the point of violence.

My review of the series: As the little German in "Laugh In" once said, "Very interesting. But Stupid. Just in case you're wondering.

BTW: This underlining is cheezing me off but I can't figure out how to disable it.

Home Again, Home Again...at least for a week or so

Possible Wise Saying of the Day: "I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be." Douglas Adams

I haven't written in a long time because we've been traveling for over a month. Being gone so long is a big deal to most families: there's a lot of disruption that comes with abandoning one's dwelling. In our lives we not only have a school-aged daughter, but a largish, brainless, dog, a cat and several plants in various stages of death.

My daughter has logged 12,000 miles since summer and will put in another thousand over Christmas.

This is not remarkable for her; she's very easy-going, unlike her mother, and will "tag along" on most adventures if there is a Starbuck's to be had.

I, however, have been a different story. It's been a long process of healing and overcoming that allowed me to be away from my safe place...and my toilet.

Today isn't the day for that story.

But we are home for a few days and we're glad for it.

Strange namings

Potential Wise Saying of the Day: "Everybody in 15^th Century Spain was wrong about where China was, and as a result Columbus discovered Caribbean vacations."

P. J. O’Rourke

When I first heard that a global positioning satellite company had taken their name from Ferdinand Magellan, my immediate response was, "Now this is a genius in Marketing...name your navigation company after a guy who couldn't navigate out of a wet paper bag."

But then I did some research and realized I was wrong. The navigationally-challenged explorer I had been thinking of was Columbus. Magellan had a good idea on what he wanted to do... he simply sucked at picking his friends. As a result he got himself killed teaming up with one tribe who was aggressively invading another on the teeny Philippine Island of Mactan.

Granted, he had made it 3/4 of the way around the globe, much of it through the featureless ocean...so I'll tip my hat to him for that. But it must be noted that for much of his trip he was traveling on hunches and guesses; for instance he simply hoped that there was a navigable pathway hugging the tip of South America even though all other known attempts had proven disastrously wrong. Basically, the success of most of Magellan's trips is based solidly on luck.

So I'm not sure what the GPS company of the same name is really telling us. Perhaps it's one of these three possibilities:
1) Trust Magellan. We'll get you there alive, probably.
2) Travel with Magellan. We'll get you there, with a little luck and a lot of "gee let's see what's around this corner" but at least we'll do it in a calming, yet almost sensual voice.
or
3) We at Magellan think most of America are morons who don't know history worth a pile of beetle dung, so we'll just pick a cool name from the past...and since most of the famous explorers spent nearly all of their time lost, we'll pick Magellan since his name has not been used as much as Columbus and Vespucci doesn't have the same ring to it and besides Magellan doesn't a lot of copyrights clinging to it.

I don't know about you, is that all this makes me feel safe on the road with the thousands of others following a mostly confused, often lost, dead guy.