Thursday, April 24, 2014
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Since I got nothing done today. . .
It just seems I spend my life waiting. The only real feedback I've had on my new novel The Glass Character is from friends and family, and, well. . . It's not that they don't count at ALL, but let's face it, their bias is plain to see.
It's hard to hold on to anything they say. I'm not getting much in the way of detail, just the same "I really enjoyed your book. I liked it better than the other two" (and it seems that, as time goes by, the other two steadily get worse). I wish I knew what part of the story people liked. I wish I knew what characters they loved, hated, or were bored with.
Since none of this is forthcoming, at least not yet, I try to content myself with Blingee, an alternate to gif. I'm beginning to realize these backgrounds look sort of like the Ed Sullivan Show when Janis Joplin or Jefferson Airplane came on: there'd be this pulsating, psychedelic goo projected behind them and it would sort of mush around in time to the music.
This is a form of play for me, a way of losing myself, and boy do I need it now. I want this book to succeed, big-time. I don't know how I'll do it. I'll try magic, wishbones, voodoo, anything. But I realize how capricious is success in any endeavour. It's not a matter of trying hard, or persevering, or even of talent. It's supposed to be "who you know", but my own efforts at who-you-know-ing haven't panned out so well. It all breaks down in the execution.
It's hard to place your book in the hands of people who can determine its success or failure. There are hardly any copies left in my box now, I've given away so many, even to exotic locations in Great Britain, from which I have almost no hope of hearing.
But we have come this far by faith. I remember when I wondered if I would ever write seriously again. Just getting through a day was a gargantuan task. Slow step by slow step, year after year after year, I brought myself and Harold to this point, and by God I am determined to continue until one of us wins.
Order The Glass Character from:
Thistledown Press
Amazon.com
Chapters/Indigo.ca
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Harold, cute, on train, yelling
Harold, in car, car on train, does not know why, cannot get off, confused, scared, panic-stricken, hair flopping around, glasses, tie, GOD.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Unbelievable! Mind-blowing pictures that will CHANGE YOUR LIFE!
These are from one of the billion or so Facebook-linked pages, i. e. Strange and Unusual Photos that will Amaze, Disturb, Sexually Arouse and Bankrupt You/Change Your Life Forever! (etc.)
Actually, they almost do.
This shot of a woman walking her pet lobster is - well - one of the strangest, taking your lunch out for a nice stroll before plunging it in boiling water and devouring it with drawn butter.
Oh, I like this. It's such a neat idea, and should be brought back. It's a portable sidecar/jail cell. This way, the cop can keep a good eye on the guy in case he tries to pry the bars apart.
Uh, a way to stack cars. A LOT of cars. Don't ask me how they got them up there, or, even harder to imagine, how they ever got them down. (Chariots of the Gods, maybe?)
A very famous 1930s swimmer, Hannah B. Lecter. No relation to that other guy.
There are several photos which depict hair-raising treatment of small children. There is a disturbing air of normalcy about it all, queasy-making today. These chain-link cages were attached to the windows of apartments so Little Johnnie could get some sunshine. Don't want him to have a Vitamin D deficiency as he goes hurtling down 20 floors and lands on the cement.
The things these nurses are carrying are babies. Yes, real live babies, wearing a sort of full-body gas mask, presumably during World War II. Note the little feet dangling down from the one on the right.
Do you know what? I must have a dirty mind, or else the military did. These holes in the sides of trains were designed so that soldiers could "kiss" their sweethearts one last time as they headed into battle. Their girl friends were supposed to stick their heads in there, but I think a hand might have been enough. I've heard stories about holes in the dividers of washroom cubicals, but mostly they're MEN's washrooms. But is it such a stretch to extrapolate? (Don't worry, "extrapolate" isn't anything dirty, or at least I don't think so.)
Now that I've had time to reflect on this awful situation, I realize this must be a boat of some kind. Perhaps these are portholes. Oh dear.
Weird things you could do with babies in the '40s. You could have them delivered by mail. Really. Reminds me of those old Disney cartoons, Dumbo maybe, where babies were delivered by stork. After a while the practice was outlawed. There was no explanation here as to why, how, etc., just that you "could". In case you think this is impossible, during my recent exploration of Phil Spector and his famous "wall of sound", I discovered that he presented his wife with a set of twins for Christmas. No, I mean GAVE her a set of twins, for an actual Christmas present. The twins weren't babies either - they were five years old, and Spector was vague about where they had come from. Unlike many an unwanted Christmas gift, this one couldn't be returned. Not surprisingly, they grew up with serious "issues".
(I have to say it. That baby. There is something seriously wrong here. Either that, or it's a Royal. Its eyes are too close together, and slant like Prince Phillip's. Worse, the mailman has the same slant. It's unfortunate. Perhaps he's responsible, not happy about it, and about to surprise someone with it, like Spector's twins.)
I can't tell if this was before or after hemlines went skyward, but it at least proves that ziplines are hardly new. If safety standards were the same as for that baby-in-a-cage, I wonder how many survived.
The invention comes with two sterile bandages to aid healing of the puncture wounds.
My personal favorite. There is a contemporary version of this, but I'll be damned if I can remember the name of it, and I don't want to look it up because it's 12:22 and I haven't had lunch yet. But look at it: attached to what looks like a fire extinguisher, with all those strange gizmos around. Pretty terrifying, and it must've been hot in there. Why not just stick your fingers in your ears?
POST-BLOG REFLECTIONS. Since Matt begged me not to post any gifs, I'll do the next best thing. How could I NOT Blingee "The Isolator"?
Order The Glass Character from:
Thistledown Press
Amazon.com
Chapters/Indigo.ca
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Nouveau Blingee
So this is what I've been working on, with Blingees. I was getting a little tired of the sparkles and dancing hearts, and started experimenting with backgrounds on black-and-white photos (of Harold, naturally!). I'm finding out that less is more, and you should leave your foreground figures strictly alone. Thus they stand out rather alarmingly against the pulsating, flashing backgrounds. You could, if you wanted to, just use one type of background, maybe that swirling grey. I see now that it kind of dances up and down, when it's properly supposed to rise like smoke. The thing is, the more "bling" you add, the slower and jerkier the animation. Took me a while to find that out. I don't have Blingee 2, either, because you have to do something to your computer, and they want all sorts of personal info from you that I won't give. The top picture I'm not sure of - might be The Cat's Paw or Welcome Danger, because there's something Chinese about the whole thing, plus there's a dead body on the floor. The bottom one is, of course, my beloved Professor Beware, which I will probably never get to see because it is Lost. In all the stills, and there are hundreds of them, among the best of any of his movies, he looks adorable, with this stunned, panic-stricken look on his face that only Harold Lloyd can do.
Order The Glass Character from:
Thistledown Press
Amazon.com
Chapters/Indigo.ca
The incredible genius of Yo Yo Ma
Every once in a while a piece of music pops into my head unbidden, from who knows where. We had a record of this piece played by Rostropovich, way back when, and listened the grooves off it. It's a gorgeous and amusing tone poem by Richard Strauss based on the adventures of Don Quixote, the Knight of the Woeful Countenance, and his sidekick Sancho Panza (I nearly said Pancho, but that's the Cisco Kid). This is YouTubed in six parts, but still worth hunting down and piecing together. This is my favorite of many favorite parts, the middle section, shimmering and shining with idealism like The Impossible Dream (and I must look up the best version of that one, sung by Richard Kiley). I always weep and bawl while listening to this, but then it seems I weep and bawl all the time now. Harold-itis. I just get the blues - I know I want this too badly. I can't see how anyone will get it, and I've put so many years in. The unreachable star?
The bunny from hell: an Easter tradition
At this time of year, you start seeing pictures of Easter bunnies so horrific, they make tawdry and terrifying Santas look downright festive.
It's hard for me to believe that this bunny suit was ever designed to be anything but horrible and frightening. This little girl has unusual composure while being forced to sit on the creature's lap. Most of the kids pictured here are screaming for their lives.
This is a good example of the time-honored custom of forcing small children to sit on the lap of, not just a total stranger (and haven't all kids been taught not to talk to strangers? How about sitting on their sweaty, motheaten knee?), but a hideous mythical creature they used to think was cute, fluffy and benevolent. Nothing good could come from this pointy-eared bastard.
This is the Easter Cat. At least it looks like one. Whoever made the bunny suit kind of went wide of accuracy. The lifeless eyes and sagging body are already causing this little girl to whimper. She probably can't wait to get out of there.
I don't like the posture, here. I don't like way the bunny leans in with that vulpine leer. I don't like the fact that its head, which is supposed to be fluffy, seems to be carved out of solid wood. I also don't like the fact that it looks as if the mouth opens and shuts.
This is a bad bunny, just bad. The little girl has mustered a smile, but is waiting to flee as soon as he gets his wretched paws off her. Dye this costume red, and it would make a pretty good Satan.
There's a web site called Cats that Look Like Hitler, but here I am proposing a web site called Easter Bunnies from the Third Reich. The large, black-rimmed holes with human eyes staring out of them are particularly menacing, and the moustache. . . that IS a moustache, isn't it? And why are the ears at right angles to the head? This isn't even a real costume, as the guy is slouching around in a cardigan and slacks, with only a hideous head and fur mitts to complete the ensemble. How Goebbels would have loved it.
I call this one the Abilify Bunny. His antidepressant has stopped working and he doesn't have the energy to go to his doctor. One of those little clouds is following him around, like in those ads.
This one I call the WTF??? Bunny. What's the deal with the face? Why is it jutting out of the guy's head? What is that thing in his hand? Is it a carrot or a Subway sandwich? You have to wonder who designs and sews these things. It looks like they may have chopped the head off a big plastic display bunny and welded it on.
I call this the Action Shot. Did you think you were getting away from me, Little Girl? Think again! NO ONE escapes the Easter Bunny from Hell! You can run, but you can't hide!
Space alien bunny. Beam me up. Quick.
THE EGG HUNT FROM HELL: More creepy-looking, terrifying Easter bunnies!
(I just keep finding more! Take a look! AIEEEEEEEE!!)
Mildew J. Bunny.
Who makes these costumes, and should it be legal?
Wanted for holding up liquor stores.
"Run, little girl! Run for your life!"
Order The Glass Character from:
Thistledown Press
Amazon.com
Chapters/Indigo.ca
S'gonna be Easter
Ain’t here yet, but
S’gonna be Easter,
That season of vinegar,
Of Paas egg kits
Now full of things like
Glitter glue and beads and
Twirly tops, whatever they are and
Foil things and
Punchout things
But when Ah was liddle it was jest aiggs
Jes’ hardboiled aigs on the kitchen
tay-ble
With my brother in his worst shirt
And me in one of his worst shirts
Because I always dressed like him
anyway
My mother wouldn’t spend the money
And didn’t notice
Ya dip the aig in, see, like
This sort of, and it comes out
All bright and sparkly and
Half this color and half that color
and
Vinegar water with color in goes all
over the table.
The thing with the most dyee of all is
Your fingertips, which are kinda like rainbows
Some so dy-eed they’re black.
No one wants to eat these aiggs, so fiddled and dipped and dried
Except Grandpa, who has one for
breakfast
But everyone cried because he had to
break the shell
And the smell of sulphur was really
something awful.
Aigs, aigs, these are Easter egges,
Representing the tomb of Christ, the
stone rolled away
The Resurrection of hatching
A chicken into a chick
And dipped fingers
And childhood returned, and returned,
and returned
Once again.
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