Hi! It's Emily, and I'm going to be coming as often as I can. That was fun! Here's my little wordbank poem:
Hiking Alone
The ground is flat, but sloped
At a forty-five degree
To me.
My shoes are filled with the white
Sand. I raise my hand
And feel the wind go by
Sloped isn’t what I mean
Not rolling hills
Or people’s hair in rollers on dollar bills
The sand on the dune isn’t cold or salty
Or sizzling hot on my feet
But just warm and sweet
So I want to take a photograph
It would be grainy
I’m the silver hallide
I’m the elephant in the room
An archetypal elephant a the room
A dark spot on a photograph
A dark spot on a white sand dune
But I’m climbing,
Rippling circles around after a drop of food coloring
Bloop! Getting closer to the end
of the poem.
I’ll show them an onomatopoeia
in Shakespeare.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Howdy Howdy
Hey, I'm writing this from home on my day off. I wonder if that means I can go in a half hour late on Monday? This does qualify as work, you know.
Last night we had six bright eyed youngsters attend writers night. Chris' friend, Emily, was our new face and I think she had fun. That reminds me, I need to send her an invite to this blog. OK, that's taken care of. Both Hannah and Katie returned after an absence and Luisa and Lauren sat by each other and bonded. Lauren showed off her book art project that I thought was really creative and I can't wait to see the final result.
Our writing exercise required us to incorporate these following words into a piece: elephant, archetype, onomatopoeia, sizzling, dune, silver halides and bloop. Here's mine contribution.
The elephant dropped water
bloop, bloop, bloop
off its trunk into the water hole.
"Bloop," the creature thought
"that's onomatopoeiac."
"I'm an archetype, you know"
the elephant said to the lion
lapping lazily.
"No, you're not. But I am"
The lion looked over at the elephant
he wondered at its bulk
it was like a sand dune
sizzling in the sun.
"If you were covered
in silver halides, elephant,
I'd lay upon you and
you'd have the silhouette
of a lion on your back."
"I'm an archetype," said the elephant.
XKCD
I still don't get tired of going to XKCD and hitting random. It's a great time waster. This one gave me a good chuckle.
Hey, I'm writing this from home on my day off. I wonder if that means I can go in a half hour late on Monday? This does qualify as work, you know.
Last night we had six bright eyed youngsters attend writers night. Chris' friend, Emily, was our new face and I think she had fun. That reminds me, I need to send her an invite to this blog. OK, that's taken care of. Both Hannah and Katie returned after an absence and Luisa and Lauren sat by each other and bonded. Lauren showed off her book art project that I thought was really creative and I can't wait to see the final result.
Our writing exercise required us to incorporate these following words into a piece: elephant, archetype, onomatopoeia, sizzling, dune, silver halides and bloop. Here's mine contribution.
The elephant dropped water
bloop, bloop, bloop
off its trunk into the water hole.
"Bloop," the creature thought
"that's onomatopoeiac."
"I'm an archetype, you know"
the elephant said to the lion
lapping lazily.
"No, you're not. But I am"
The lion looked over at the elephant
he wondered at its bulk
it was like a sand dune
sizzling in the sun.
"If you were covered
in silver halides, elephant,
I'd lay upon you and
you'd have the silhouette
of a lion on your back."
"I'm an archetype," said the elephant.
XKCD
I still don't get tired of going to XKCD and hitting random. It's a great time waster. This one gave me a good chuckle.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Old Skool Dorkiness
If I had a good picture of me and my Commodore 64 I could be featured on this webpage.
If I had a good picture of me and my Commodore 64 I could be featured on this webpage.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Monday, April 06, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
HOLY BACON IT'S MEGHAN!
SHE WROTE THINGS?! OH MY GOSH.
This is a "Narrative Essay" I had to do for my writing class, aka, "Expository Writing," aka, "gay class," as my neighbor, Brittany shared with a friend over Facebook (it's a computer lab classroom, so we all have personal computers which is REALLY NEAT except conspicuous typing/clicking is conspicuous, alas) which I think is the most hilarious thing ever, for some reason. "Where you headed?" "Oh, to class." "What class is it?" "Gay class." FFFFFFFAHAHHAHAHAHAH OMG WHY IS THAT FUNNY. Like, it's not even "my gay class" or "my gay-ass class" or even any recognisable form of "this class is gay." It's just "gay class," where we are taught to be "gay" in the derogatory sense that has nothing to do with being homosexual. Okay, don't get pissed off, because, really, it's just funny. "Gay class." AHAHAHAH.
I TALK A LOT. GAH. So, the prompt I chose was "a childhood event." Observe:
Summer never used to mean heat, not really, because “heat” wasn’t a real thing. Sweat was a real thing, facial flush was real. That’s what summer meant: a beaded mustache of perspiration and a certain heavy throbbing in your cheeks which signified that your face was now darkly pink all over, except in that thin area under your nose and around your mouth which remained pale and somehow made the redness look ugly. –If only you could be consistently red, like in the cartoons when a character became angry and blew steam out of his ears. His face was entirely, fantastically fire-engine red but entirely his own, nevertheless. Elmer Fudd never looked as though he’d had someone else’s mouth pasted onto his face with a mustache of sweat.
Your hands changed too, in summer; they smelled like metal and a little like asphalt. You thought maybe it was the calluses that smelled that way, the yellow-grey-translucent bumps on your hands from the monkey-bars and the swing set. There were five of them per hand: one at the base of each of your four fingers and one right in the middle of your palm, like a closed eye or stigmata.
No, no. Of course, the skin, the callus didn’t smell that way; the metallic scent was a combination of dirt and dried sweat. You’ll come to understand.
Just as with “heat” and “summer,” you’ll come to know that it’s heat which paints the faraway horizon with wavering lines that shimmer like water and heat which makes you feel heavy and damp, and which makes summer, summer.
But for now, summer means camp. Camp is what happens when parents must continue to go to work, even when children have vacation. You can’t very well stay home on your own, with no one to watch you or your little brother. That would be neglect, you will come to understand. In the meantime, you will go to camp with a number of other children during the summer, and there will be plenty of grownups to keep close watch on you.
Little brothers are not the same as friends, so you must find your own playmates among the numerous bodies. Making friends is hard, you find. Mostly, there is a herd of semi-familiar faces playing some incarnation of freeze-tag or hide-and-seek; girls and girlish-boys scattering the playground’s woodchips with pastel-colored sneakers, brown stick-legs swinging every which way, calling out, singsong; loud, derisive. These are companions enough for the weeks of camp.
Some days, you’re tired of running around, though, so you drop out of the herd in favor of sitting on the sidelines: large wood beams around the perimeter of the playground. You aren’t the only one sitting there, digging idly, abstractly in the wood chips with a wet stick, looking for treasure, maybe. The word “lonely” is another of those which you’ll understand later in life, but don’t quite know in these days. It’s quiet, here on the perimeter. Quiet is okay with you, sometimes.
Today, a boy approached you on the wooden-beamed perimeter. He was almost uniformly red-faced, with a sweat mustache that matched yours. You stared at it for a while, before taking in the rest of him: short, very short red-sun hair, eyes bright in his flushed face, round faced and round bodied, soft, un-calloused hands, pale eyebrows.
He extended to you one hot fist, which none-too gently encircled a wilted stem. It was a clover flower, the sort that are actually made up of tiny white lily-esque blooms, crowded together in the shape of a bumble-bee’s body; a loose, green-white bauble.
“I gave you this flower,” he explained, “because I love you.”
Solemnly, you took the wilted stem and looked at him again, without expectation. He blinked once, and you both breathed together, in silence. He nodded a little. He walked away. It was time for the parents to retrieve their children.
You dropped the flower carefully and went to gather your little brother.
Today, it means little, maybe nothing. But you’ll come to understand someday, probably. Someday.
Weird tense and POV is DFW's fault. Also, the tense change is deliberate...hope the teacher understands that, um.
I like this piece, even for being an assignement-prompt-thinger. This whole event was so strange, looking back... like, that kid's words; he really said it just like I've narrated-- the different tenses in his phrase are so... I don't even know.
Anyway, THAR U GO. Critique much encouraged!
SHE WROTE THINGS?! OH MY GOSH.
This is a "Narrative Essay" I had to do for my writing class, aka, "Expository Writing," aka, "gay class," as my neighbor, Brittany shared with a friend over Facebook (it's a computer lab classroom, so we all have personal computers which is REALLY NEAT except conspicuous typing/clicking is conspicuous, alas) which I think is the most hilarious thing ever, for some reason. "Where you headed?" "Oh, to class." "What class is it?" "Gay class." FFFFFFFAHAHHAHAHAHAH OMG WHY IS THAT FUNNY. Like, it's not even "my gay class" or "my gay-ass class" or even any recognisable form of "this class is gay." It's just "gay class," where we are taught to be "gay" in the derogatory sense that has nothing to do with being homosexual. Okay, don't get pissed off, because, really, it's just funny. "Gay class." AHAHAHAH.
I TALK A LOT. GAH. So, the prompt I chose was "a childhood event." Observe:
"Someday"
Summer never used to mean heat, not really, because “heat” wasn’t a real thing. Sweat was a real thing, facial flush was real. That’s what summer meant: a beaded mustache of perspiration and a certain heavy throbbing in your cheeks which signified that your face was now darkly pink all over, except in that thin area under your nose and around your mouth which remained pale and somehow made the redness look ugly. –If only you could be consistently red, like in the cartoons when a character became angry and blew steam out of his ears. His face was entirely, fantastically fire-engine red but entirely his own, nevertheless. Elmer Fudd never looked as though he’d had someone else’s mouth pasted onto his face with a mustache of sweat.
Your hands changed too, in summer; they smelled like metal and a little like asphalt. You thought maybe it was the calluses that smelled that way, the yellow-grey-translucent bumps on your hands from the monkey-bars and the swing set. There were five of them per hand: one at the base of each of your four fingers and one right in the middle of your palm, like a closed eye or stigmata.
No, no. Of course, the skin, the callus didn’t smell that way; the metallic scent was a combination of dirt and dried sweat. You’ll come to understand.
Just as with “heat” and “summer,” you’ll come to know that it’s heat which paints the faraway horizon with wavering lines that shimmer like water and heat which makes you feel heavy and damp, and which makes summer, summer.
But for now, summer means camp. Camp is what happens when parents must continue to go to work, even when children have vacation. You can’t very well stay home on your own, with no one to watch you or your little brother. That would be neglect, you will come to understand. In the meantime, you will go to camp with a number of other children during the summer, and there will be plenty of grownups to keep close watch on you.
Little brothers are not the same as friends, so you must find your own playmates among the numerous bodies. Making friends is hard, you find. Mostly, there is a herd of semi-familiar faces playing some incarnation of freeze-tag or hide-and-seek; girls and girlish-boys scattering the playground’s woodchips with pastel-colored sneakers, brown stick-legs swinging every which way, calling out, singsong; loud, derisive. These are companions enough for the weeks of camp.
Some days, you’re tired of running around, though, so you drop out of the herd in favor of sitting on the sidelines: large wood beams around the perimeter of the playground. You aren’t the only one sitting there, digging idly, abstractly in the wood chips with a wet stick, looking for treasure, maybe. The word “lonely” is another of those which you’ll understand later in life, but don’t quite know in these days. It’s quiet, here on the perimeter. Quiet is okay with you, sometimes.
Today, a boy approached you on the wooden-beamed perimeter. He was almost uniformly red-faced, with a sweat mustache that matched yours. You stared at it for a while, before taking in the rest of him: short, very short red-sun hair, eyes bright in his flushed face, round faced and round bodied, soft, un-calloused hands, pale eyebrows.
He extended to you one hot fist, which none-too gently encircled a wilted stem. It was a clover flower, the sort that are actually made up of tiny white lily-esque blooms, crowded together in the shape of a bumble-bee’s body; a loose, green-white bauble.
“I gave you this flower,” he explained, “because I love you.”
Solemnly, you took the wilted stem and looked at him again, without expectation. He blinked once, and you both breathed together, in silence. He nodded a little. He walked away. It was time for the parents to retrieve their children.
You dropped the flower carefully and went to gather your little brother.
Today, it means little, maybe nothing. But you’ll come to understand someday, probably. Someday.
Weird tense and POV is DFW's fault. Also, the tense change is deliberate...hope the teacher understands that, um.
I like this piece, even for being an assignement-prompt-thinger. This whole event was so strange, looking back... like, that kid's words; he really said it just like I've narrated-- the different tenses in his phrase are so... I don't even know.
Anyway, THAR U GO. Critique much encouraged!
Monday, March 30, 2009
An Offer
On Wednesday April 29th, in honor of National Poetry Month, we will be having a reading here by Irene Blair Honeycutt. She was a teacher of mine at CPCC and she is an excellent poet and a great reader. She's also very generous and has agreed to allow a few members of this writers club to read before her that night. There, the invitation has been made. Anyone interested?
If anyone is in contact with Clare and Pippin please let them know about this also. They are included in this invitation.
On Wednesday April 29th, in honor of National Poetry Month, we will be having a reading here by Irene Blair Honeycutt. She was a teacher of mine at CPCC and she is an excellent poet and a great reader. She's also very generous and has agreed to allow a few members of this writers club to read before her that night. There, the invitation has been made. Anyone interested?
If anyone is in contact with Clare and Pippin please let them know about this also. They are included in this invitation.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Meeting this Thursday
Hey, this is the monthly reminder that we are meeting this Thursday at the Morrison Regional Library at 6 pm. We may even have another new member and if we get the usual turnout we should have a good time. This time I am going to prepare green tea in lieu of swag. We didn't get many donations this month worthy of handing out.
Can I get an early "yup, I'm coming" from a few of you?
Hey, this is the monthly reminder that we are meeting this Thursday at the Morrison Regional Library at 6 pm. We may even have another new member and if we get the usual turnout we should have a good time. This time I am going to prepare green tea in lieu of swag. We didn't get many donations this month worthy of handing out.
Can I get an early "yup, I'm coming" from a few of you?
Le Guin Interview
Did anyone listen to that Le Guin interview? It was really good. I didn't realize until the interview started that she was interviewed by China Mieville.
Did anyone listen to that Le Guin interview? It was really good. I didn't realize until the interview started that she was interviewed by China Mieville.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Hugo Nominations Announced
You can see the list here. I've only read one book on the list, Little Brother, and I'm pulling for that one. I was wondering if a YA novel has ever won the Hugo for best novel and I see back in 2001 a Harry Potter book won.
You can see the list here. I've only read one book on the list, Little Brother, and I'm pulling for that one. I was wondering if a YA novel has ever won the Hugo for best novel and I see back in 2001 a Harry Potter book won.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Ursula Le Guin on the BBC
It's being broadcast pretty early tomorrow but I would think it will be archived. I'll have to try and give this a listen.
It's being broadcast pretty early tomorrow but I would think it will be archived. I'll have to try and give this a listen.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Most Linked to Sites
Technorati has posted a list of the site most linked to by the blogs they track. Surprisingly, this blog doesn't appear on that list. I can't understand why.
Technorati has posted a list of the site most linked to by the blogs they track. Surprisingly, this blog doesn't appear on that list. I can't understand why.
Monday, March 09, 2009
New Web Project
I find this new project to be very intriguing. A website that actually answers factual questions rather than doing a basic web search. As a librarian this could be really helpful with some questions. For example, we often get a teenagers that come to the desk and say something like "I need to do a report on Anthony III." And I'll have to do a reference interview to determine just who exactly Anthony III is before I can continue. Sometimes there may be more than one Anthony III. If I can type "Who is Anthony III" into this new tool and get a quick answer then I'll know where to begin my real research.
I find this new project to be very intriguing. A website that actually answers factual questions rather than doing a basic web search. As a librarian this could be really helpful with some questions. For example, we often get a teenagers that come to the desk and say something like "I need to do a report on Anthony III." And I'll have to do a reference interview to determine just who exactly Anthony III is before I can continue. Sometimes there may be more than one Anthony III. If I can type "Who is Anthony III" into this new tool and get a quick answer then I'll know where to begin my real research.
Short Short Story by Swanwick
This story will take you all of thirty seconds to read but I guarantee it will blow your mind, dude.
This story will take you all of thirty seconds to read but I guarantee it will blow your mind, dude.
Monday, March 02, 2009
My Story From Last Meeting
(Loosely based on an episode of "Beavis and Butthead")
My random words are "hide" and "dude"
"Are there worse things than this?"
"Yes"
"Are there stranger things than this?"
"Yes"
There was a pause as the two friends huddled by the looming, metal vents on the roof of "Papa Squid's Burger Joint."
"Can you think of them, by any chance?" Romero Rickenbaugh asked, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Hot air smelling of cobwebs and french fries drifted lazily from the vents, tussling Joey Franké's frizzy red hair as he pondered Romero's question. All he could do was shrug.
"Do you remember those books we read in health class? They taught us all about safe sex, the food pyramid, puberty, and never to smoke weed, right? But then this comes along...and we've got no idea what to do."
As sweat broke out across Romero's forehead, Joey Franké could only laugh absentmindedly. "It seems kinda obvious, don't it?" he said. "You've just gotta hide, dude. After he finds us, who knows?"
Mr. Shtoonk's footsteps echoed on the bricks of the roof as he lumbered over with his hands in his pockets, grinning maliciously. "Turn around and show some iron, boys" he drawled, sounding uncannily like John Wayne. The smell of cheap ketchup smeared across his face and his scalp with hair torn wantonously off filled Romero's nostrils. "Saddle up, pilgrim!" He drew a handful of sporks from his pocket.
For the billionth time that evening, Romero Rickenbaugh wondered how drinking that cup of Red Bull and Hamburger drippings could have made Mr. Shtoonk act that strange. As scared as he was, Romero thought the image of his boss wrestling him to the ground with a handful of sporks while yelling "Take 'em to Missouri!" was pretty comical. The slamming of sporks against his head didn't even hurt....much. Romero knew his boss would be alright in the morning...and then, another day of flipping burgers would begin.
(Loosely based on an episode of "Beavis and Butthead")
My random words are "hide" and "dude"
"Are there worse things than this?"
"Yes"
"Are there stranger things than this?"
"Yes"
There was a pause as the two friends huddled by the looming, metal vents on the roof of "Papa Squid's Burger Joint."
"Can you think of them, by any chance?" Romero Rickenbaugh asked, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Hot air smelling of cobwebs and french fries drifted lazily from the vents, tussling Joey Franké's frizzy red hair as he pondered Romero's question. All he could do was shrug.
"Do you remember those books we read in health class? They taught us all about safe sex, the food pyramid, puberty, and never to smoke weed, right? But then this comes along...and we've got no idea what to do."
As sweat broke out across Romero's forehead, Joey Franké could only laugh absentmindedly. "It seems kinda obvious, don't it?" he said. "You've just gotta hide, dude. After he finds us, who knows?"
Mr. Shtoonk's footsteps echoed on the bricks of the roof as he lumbered over with his hands in his pockets, grinning maliciously. "Turn around and show some iron, boys" he drawled, sounding uncannily like John Wayne. The smell of cheap ketchup smeared across his face and his scalp with hair torn wantonously off filled Romero's nostrils. "Saddle up, pilgrim!" He drew a handful of sporks from his pocket.
For the billionth time that evening, Romero Rickenbaugh wondered how drinking that cup of Red Bull and Hamburger drippings could have made Mr. Shtoonk act that strange. As scared as he was, Romero thought the image of his boss wrestling him to the ground with a handful of sporks while yelling "Take 'em to Missouri!" was pretty comical. The slamming of sporks against his head didn't even hurt....much. Romero knew his boss would be alright in the morning...and then, another day of flipping burgers would begin.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Last Night's Exercise
We had four in attendance last night. We have lost a lot of our regulars because they got old but we have a nice second round of regulars showing up. Grace seems to have fallen off the face of the Earth and Luisa couldn't make it at the last second.
Our exercise was a couple of random words drawn from a pile. We had all contributed two words to the pile. My words were "funky" and "taco." What I wrote was so silly that I think it deserves to be shared with the world.
Funk Taco
Roger drove up to the Taco Bell and stopped next to the talking menu. He looked it over. He knew he wanted a Meximelt, for sure. Meximelts had that August-at-noon dumpster taste that he loved. A Meximelt was a given but he craved variety in his meal. A bagful of Meximelts wouldn't cut it today. He needed more. Maybe a 7 Layer Burrito. 7 Layers come with rice. He'd never get the level of heartburn that said "I overindulged at Taco Bell if he ate rice. Hmmm...the Big Beef Burrito. The triple B never let him down. You could get a steak version of the Triple B. The streak was low grade, to be sure, but not as low grade as the ground beef that came on the regular Big Beef Burrito. He could get heartburn so severe with two Meximelts and one Big Beef Burrito that he would be forced to lie down and breath slowly and wait until his body decided it was time to head to the bathroom.
He was prepared to order the two Meximelts and one Big Beef Burrito but he saw a new item on the menu that intrigued him. It was in the bottom left corner. It was a monkey-brown colored taco with arms and legs that was either dancing with or hugging a giant cup of Mountain Dew. It was called the Funky Taco. He was scratching his chin and pondering what might a Funky Taco be when the speaker in the menu spoke.
"Thank you for bzzzsking Taco Bell. May I help?" said a bored teenager.
"Uh yeah," Replied Roger. "What's in a Funky Taco?"
"Baby skrrrtzz."
"Baby what?"
"Skrrrzzty squirrels."
"Do you recommend them?"
"How bad a case of heartburn do you want?"
"Really bad. So bad I can take the rest of the day off and crash on my couch and watch TV."
"What else you gettin?"
"Two Meximelts."
"OK, add three Funky Tacos and you'll wish you were dead."
"Perfect."
We had four in attendance last night. We have lost a lot of our regulars because they got old but we have a nice second round of regulars showing up. Grace seems to have fallen off the face of the Earth and Luisa couldn't make it at the last second.
Our exercise was a couple of random words drawn from a pile. We had all contributed two words to the pile. My words were "funky" and "taco." What I wrote was so silly that I think it deserves to be shared with the world.
Funk Taco
Roger drove up to the Taco Bell and stopped next to the talking menu. He looked it over. He knew he wanted a Meximelt, for sure. Meximelts had that August-at-noon dumpster taste that he loved. A Meximelt was a given but he craved variety in his meal. A bagful of Meximelts wouldn't cut it today. He needed more. Maybe a 7 Layer Burrito. 7 Layers come with rice. He'd never get the level of heartburn that said "I overindulged at Taco Bell if he ate rice. Hmmm...the Big Beef Burrito. The triple B never let him down. You could get a steak version of the Triple B. The streak was low grade, to be sure, but not as low grade as the ground beef that came on the regular Big Beef Burrito. He could get heartburn so severe with two Meximelts and one Big Beef Burrito that he would be forced to lie down and breath slowly and wait until his body decided it was time to head to the bathroom.
He was prepared to order the two Meximelts and one Big Beef Burrito but he saw a new item on the menu that intrigued him. It was in the bottom left corner. It was a monkey-brown colored taco with arms and legs that was either dancing with or hugging a giant cup of Mountain Dew. It was called the Funky Taco. He was scratching his chin and pondering what might a Funky Taco be when the speaker in the menu spoke.
"Thank you for bzzzsking Taco Bell. May I help?" said a bored teenager.
"Uh yeah," Replied Roger. "What's in a Funky Taco?"
"Baby skrrrtzz."
"Baby what?"
"Skrrrzzty squirrels."
"Do you recommend them?"
"How bad a case of heartburn do you want?"
"Really bad. So bad I can take the rest of the day off and crash on my couch and watch TV."
"What else you gettin?"
"Two Meximelts."
"OK, add three Funky Tacos and you'll wish you were dead."
"Perfect."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
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