Wednesday, November 03, 2004

The Ballot heard around the World

Okay. Who's stupid? No one's raising their hands now, I see. But, when it came to election time you all sure didn't mind identifying yourselves then!


Fine. I don't mind four more years of war. Four more years of lies. Four more years of justifiable doubt in the abilities of our leader.

What I do mind is four more years of having to look at that mug and seeing a blinding, blinking light flash in mind that says: "He's an idiot! He's an idiot! Just look at him. He's a mother-freaking idiot! And, he's sending your cousins to war."

I voted yesterday, ya’ll. And, was so surprised that others didn't share at least a percentage of my anticipation! This isn't my first Presidential Election. But, in the few years I have been eligible, this has been the most crucial, I think, in terms of understanding the value of the individual vote.

Does that simple idea mean anything to anyone anymore? I ask as if it ever did. *shrugging*

Anyway, I’m disappointed in the results. And—I’ll admit—sparkly, tantalizing webs of conspiracy theories are being lovingly spun in my mind.

I know I’m not the only one that was horrified by the bleeding map that was shown over and over again on the news. I can’t believe that this country is made up reds.

The Commis.

No, but really. That overwhelming republican picture was horribly schewed. It doesn’t make sense! How could the American public choose another four years with a rocket happy imbecile?

Okay, I'll give that many people opt not to exercise one of the few influential rights we have, I'll give that confusing information was presented by both parties, I'll give that…

Oh, hell. Forget the excuses.

RE: Dubbya:

I don’t care if only one other person in the country besides me voted, they’d have to be retarded or rich to endorse this guy.

Now, back to
my book. Go read it. It has nothing to do with Dubbya. Though, I may work him into a carnival scene as part of the freak show.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Ah So! NaNoWriMo

No, my friends, that is not what the crazy kids are calling the latest dance craze. What it is is a competition. A call to arms.

A challenge…against oneself.

National Writing Month has kicked off. And, I’ve thrown my hat into the ring. And, dammit, they won’t give it back! (I wish they would. That’s my favorite head apparel.)

Anywho, in honor of this commitment to contribute a few words per day for the next 30 days, thus ensuring a collection of words--and maybe even a book to go with it--I have begun my novel:

Patchwork Freud

Loosely based on me, my experiences and (mostly) experiences I wish I had, this book chronicles the depths that we early (or mid or late)-life-crisis sufferers will go to to find a little peace.

So, my readers (all One Million of you), can go and read along. And, leave comments, please. I know you're shy, but encouragement or words to rebel against do wonders for my ego and stamina.

Thanks Much,