Today I am thankful for electric heaters.

It wouldn’t be a holiday unless something got fucked up.

Last year, it was Christmas a la Laura Ingalls Wilder, toasting muffins over the gas stove and hoping fifty thousand candles don’t burn the house down before the power comes back.

This year, it’s Thanksgiving in the Arctic. Our furnace mysteriously stopped working on Wednesday, the day before the long holiday weekend. Which means nobody can come look at it until Monday.

It was 37 degrees last night.

Kevin went down into the crawl space to peer at the thing and has done what he can, though to no avail; further troubleshooting would involve the possibility of electrocution so I put my foot down. He went to the store and bought a couple of electric heaters which have actually warmed up our living room and bedroom pretty well.

I, however, am in the office all day which feels like a meat locker. I wear fifty layers of clothes, drink my weight in hot tea, and write my NaNo story until my fingers freeze and can’t type anymore. I’m woefully behind but charging forth at top speed. My goal is to be within 5,000 words of 40,000 by Sunday night.

Wish me luck.  And I hope you all had a safe, warm and happy Thanksgiving!

Technorati Tags: NaNoWriMo, domestic bliss

Today I am thankful for Ibuprofen and Visine.

It is Day 14 into the madness that is NaNoWriMo.

My back, arms and wrists hurt. My ever-widening ass is numb and imprinted with the mesh of my chair pad. My eyes feel like they’ve been laid out to dry in the sun and buffed with sandpaper.

On weekends, I spend six hours minimum in front of my computer. On weekdays, I sit at my computer for two hours in the mornings, before I go to work and sit at their computer for eight hours.

And now, my employer just made overtime mandatory. So now I must add an additional five hours to the ten a day I’m already sitting.

As my saintly supporter¹ Kevin would say, let’s do the math.

Eleven hours per day, five days per week. On weekends, six hours per day.

That’s 67 hours per week sitting at my computer.

I do not believe the human body is meant to sit on its ass for such appallingly long stretches, although we’ve spent the last fifty years or so doing our best to change that with the television.

In any case, says Kevin, let’s continue with our math.

I have exactly 6,000 words, which makes me 15,658 words behind schedule. To reach 50K words by the end of the month, I need to write 2,020 every day.

If I can manage 1,000 words per hour and maybe a few more on the weekend…. I just. might. make it.

And it better be a best-seller because I’ll need the money for extensive physical therapy.

Oh, alright - and cognitive therapy, too. Who am I kidding.

1. No Plot? No Problem! by Chris Baty, creator of NaNoWriMo [↩]

I don’t believe in god, but if I did I’d thank Her for you.

Since announcing my intention to participate in NaNoWriMo this year, I’ve received nothing but encouragement from friends and family.¹ That’s tops on my list of things to be grateful for this Thanks Giving Month.

There is this really great book on writing which I won’t name right now because, well, I’m going to make a big stink about the tiny part of it that sucks ass.

This book is written by one of my all-time favorite writers and 99% of it is absolutely wonderful. The advice on writing is generous and true, interspersed with personal narrative that is funny and insightful and instructive all at the same time. Unlike a lot of its competitors, the book is both an effective instruction manual and a good read.

But. Everyone’s got a big but.

There is one paragraph early on in this book that when I read it made me want to throw it through a window. (It’s in the introduction, in fact, which is a shame because it’s hard to read the great stuff that comes later if the book is lying on the street in a pile of glass.) Anyway, in said paragraph, the author says:

If you want to be published, give that up now. It is very likely that your stuff sucks and no one will want to read it, let alone publish it. Still, you should write anyway because writing, like all painful activities, builds character.”

I’m paraphrasing but not exaggerating.

Well. Maybe as a kid I had a few too many well-meaning people tell me to give up my artistic dreams and go out and get a nice, reliable accounting degree. Perhaps I harbor a teensy bit of resentment about that. But I honestly think that that piss-poor piece of advice would have inspired violence in me anyway, if not for myself, then on behalf of the legions of vulnerable young writers everywhere.

Let’s just call it right out: most writers want to be published. I’ve never, ever met a writer who didn’t, and I’ve met a lot, both professional and amateur. To deny it brings nothing but a holier-than-thou attitude and a chip the size of the entire Harry Potter series on the shoulder.

Many writers want fame and fortune, too. Some of of us dream of being as rich as Stephen King, as revered as John Steinbeck, and as Hollywood as Jane Austen. While the literati may turn up their noses at such aspirations, I doubt they’d be too upset if Scorcese offered them a fortune for the rights to turn their four-stanza masterpiece into a miniseries.

But when it comes right down to it, most of us writers want what everyone wants: to make a living doing something we love. And as citizens of Planet Wage-Slave, we are already aware this is a tough gig to get.

Trust me, we don’t need to be protected from the “harsh realities” of life. If we made it through puberty alive, we already know you can’t always get what you want.

Some may believe goofy, romantic stuff like being a writer makes you sexy or that getting published will make all your problems go away. But dieters believe these things, too, and nobody tries to tell them that being fat builds character.

So all well-meaning wing-clippers, hear me now: telling someone they are probably never going to “make it” as a writer (or painter, or musician, or actor) does not help them. It does nothing but nurture their natural bud of insecurity into a full-grown venus flytrap that will slowly and painfully devour them alive.²

This month, I am grateful to the NaNoWriMo creators for embracing the desire to write one’s heart out, crap or no, and for the internet for enabling others to join them once a year in a joyful global crapfest.

I’m thankful for my own stubborn still small voice that keeps whispering to thine ownself be true.

Most of all, I’m thankful for all the friends and family who have been so positive about my 50K In 30 Days. It’s still slow and a little bit painful, but I’m growing mine ownself a new pair of wings.

1. Those who gave me discouragement are no longer my friends or family. [↩]
2. Feed me, Seymour! [↩]

#29-30 + 1: Family, Friends & Feminism

I’ve spent a month blogging about all the things I am grateful for, and as cliche as it sounds, it’s been pretty darn uplifting. Among other things, it’s made me appreciate that annoying-but-true, classic Buhddist belief that those things which confound us are the purest of blessings. To wit:

Family and friends are pretty much why any of us gets up in the morning. Oh, you can say “I get up because I have a mortgage to pay” or “I get up because I have six cats sleeping on me and I can’t stand it any more” or “I get up because the kids will eat chocolate cake for breakfast if I don’t.” But really, all that is just a cover for the smarmy truth:

We live for those we love.

Everything else - the house, the car, the job, the clothes, the graduation, the promotion, the vacation, the Nintendo Wii - all that crap is just details. Deep in our curmudgeonly hearts, we know that even if we got all the goodies we ever wanted, it wouldn’t mean a rats ass if we didn’t have the people we love.

I started to write out a list of all the people to whom I am grateful and why, but I realized it was long and boring to anyone but me. And what I wanted to say, anyway, was really just this: Thank your lucky stars for the loved ones in your life. Don’t take them for granted because that’s the only real sin in this world.

So today is December 1st, and Thanksgiving Month is officially over… but I find I simply hafta give one more thank:

If you are a woman and you…

• vote
• have a college education
• wear pants
• play sports
• work in politics or medicine (or at all, for that matter)
• choose not to have children
• own property
• or have chosen to do your own thing in any way, shape, or form…

Thank a feminist.

There was a time not so very long ago that none of the above were possible for you in the good old US of A (and still isn’t in many countries).

If you are a man and the women in your life love themselves and love you better for it, if your brilliant daughter or niece makes you proud, if your heart is free… thank a feminist.

If you want women to earn more than the current 70% of every man’s dollar, want to keep the right to choose legal, want to eliminate the pink collar ghettos, want “God” to be genderless, want little girls to grow up knowing their worth is in who they are, not who they belong to…

Thank a feminist. She is making this future possible.

Photo: Water crystal formed by the words “love and gratitude”

Technorati Tags: feminism, gratitude

#26-28 Peace, Love & Freedom of Speech

So now you know how much I love the holidays…but you may not know why. I love the holidays because it’s a time of celebrating peace, giving thanks, and loving thy neighbor. And I get to wear rhinestones and gold dust in my hair.

Couldn’t I do these things any old time of the year? Sure. And I do to the best of my ability. But it’s fun to crank it up to eleven during the holiday season - we have so very, very few shared traditions left in this country, it’s a treat to get to participate in something positive with almost 300,000,000 people.*

Of course, there will always be those who just can’t get with the program. There will always be the spiritual Scrooges who can’t see past the end of their stupidity and prejudice.

DENVER, Colorado (AP) — A homeowners’ association in southwestern Colorado has threatened to fine a resident $25 a day until she removes a Christmas wreath with a peace sign that some say is an anti-Iraq war protest or a symbol of Satan.

Satanists For Peace? Sounds better than Ignorant Facist Hypocrits for War, I’ll tell ya that.

*Estimated current population of the USA. Yes, I know lots of folks don’t celebrate Christmas in the USA for religious reasons, but most of them do eat a turkey (or Tofurkey) on Thanksgiving so they’re included in my holiday party.

Technorati Tags: holiday season, peace, thanksgiving, love thy neighbor, traditions, Scrooge, peace-sign Christmas wreath, religious hypocrisy, facism, freedom of speech, war in Iraq

#23-25 Celebrate the season, damn it

Thanksgiving Day is the Official Beginning of the Holiday Season, and I will confess right here: I love it.  I couldn’t be a Scrooge if you paid me (though I am taking bids).  No, I’m pretty much one of those annoying people who truly love the holidays, and here are just a few of my favorite things about it:

• I’m actually not much of a foodie, my palat being only a few degrees more discerning than that of your average cockerspaniel. But I know what I like. And it wouldn’t be the holidays without holiday food - turkey, potatoes, cornbread stuffing, roasted vegetables, pumpkin pie, wine. I look forward to the tryptophan high of Turkey Day and Christmas, as well as the endless Left-over Lunches. I will gladly jog a country mile for that country sourdough roll. And if you don’t want to draw back a bloody stump, getcher mitt offa my pie.
• One of Kevin’s (repeatable) nicknames for me is Shiny Crow, so called for my inexplicable and uncontrollable gravitation toward all things shiny and sparkly. The holiday season is, therefore, Shiny Crow crack. A dead tree in the living room comes alive with colorful glass balls, that wierd stretchy silver shit “tinsel,” and lights that flash like to give you epilepsy. Hang more o’ them lights on the porch, the garage, and the cubicle at work - make ‘em a veritable fire hazard. Wear the glittery earrings, the rhinestone-accented party dress, the gold dust in your hair. Light the candles - make your spirit bright.
• Only blah-blah-blah shopping days left. I love to shop, but not being independently wealthy, I try to reign it in 10 months of the year. Even as the holiday season descends upon me, visions of Christmas lists dancing in my head, I try to curb my enthusiasm: come Black Friday, I recite my vow: “I’m not buying anything for anyone. We all have too damn much as it is. I shall not contribute to the rampant consumerism poisoning our culture.” And then before I know it, it’s a New Year and I’ve blown a good sized wad on various friends, family, a street kid, and a low-income family. This year’s mantra: Don’t fight it.

Technorati Tags: holiday shopping, comfort food, tryptophan, Shiny Crow, Christmas spirit, Black Friday, consumerism, street kids, low-income, giving

#21 & 22: Fetus & Fallus

What little guy is causing almost as much internet ruckus as O. J.’s didn’t-think-he-could-sink-lower, mega-million-dollar, “confession” book & t.v. special?

The design of the Aquapet is truly fascinating from a feminist perspective. This toy ingeniously converts the phallus into a womb - complete with nipple-bearing testicles and gently bobbing, rather surprised-looking fetus.

There have been many attempts in our culture to imagine creation sans woman (J. R. Tolkein’s fighting Bruhai, Dr. Frankenstein’s monster, the space fetus in 2001: A Space Odyssey to name just a few), but this one gets the Oscar for Most Whimsical. Its designer was either very unconscious or very horny - not that there is a lot of difference between the two.

Oh, and by the way, Aquapet reminds me that it’s high time I give thanks for fetus and phallus. Truly, they are fabulous gifts from Dog what look great on other people. I mean, where would we be without them? Besides much better off? (Sorry, couldn’t resist a classic feminazi cliche…)

Technorati Tags: O. J. Simpson, Aquapet, toys for Christmas, fetuses, phalluses, creation, Tolkein, Frankenstein, 2001: A Space Odyssey, feminism

#18-20: Little altars everywhere

Today I am having trouble feeling grateful.

There are squillions of things in the world - my world - to be thankful for, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that today for whatever reason, it’s easier to feel grumpy about all the other things.

Bogged down as I am in foggy, swampy poopitude, I search my brain for that for which I am grateful. And little things come to me… humble things, shining like tiny lamps…

• Dogs. Happy dogs, sad dogs, loyal dogs, playful dogs, stinky dogs, ugly dogs, pretty dogs. Even nasty, trained-to-eat-babies dogs are pure in their souls - it’s their owners who have that special place in Hell reserved for them. For the most part, dogs just wanna be loved as unconditionally as they love us, and who can argue with that?
• Shoes. Good, comfortable, stylin’ shoes. My black Merrell loafers trotted me all over the cobblestone streets of old Europe recently, and my feet felt nary a twinge of soreness. Back at home in the Pacific Northwest, they keep my feet toasty warm and dry as I plow through the rain. I wear the shit out of these shoes and will cry when they fall apart.
• Red. The most mysterious color in the world. Symbolic of a myriad of contradictory things: happiness, danger, weddings (in China), adultery, energy, blood, Christmas, emergency, fire, stop, holiness (in Africa), forbidden areas, passion, good luck, and AIDs awareness. The Virgin Mary’s robes are blue, but her mantle is red. Red makes no apologies. Red is the color of my heart.

Technorati Tags: dogs, unconditional love, shoes, Merrells, walking in Europe, red, happiness, danger, weddings in China, adultery, energy, blood, Christmas, emergency, fire, stop, holiness in Africa, forbidden areas, passion, good luck, AIDs awareness, Virgin Mary

#16 & 17: Trees & Cheese

Remember that old TV movie with a young John Travolta, The Boy In The Plastic Bubble? Well, c’est moi.

Not that I really have SCID. But I feel like it some times.* I am allergic to Nature. A variety of different trees make me sneeze. Molds and dust mites put the zap on me. Weeds and grass try to kill me every year. Oatmeal and rice have made me their Public Enemy Number 1. And of course, lactose makes me a very unpopular person after I eat most forms of dairy.

Nonetheless, I love these things, though they don’t like me. Well, maybe I don’t quite love mold and mites, though they have rights too. But trees and cheese…what would I do without them?**

Trees are the people of the plant world. They watch over us. They shelter us. They give us wood for our fireplaces and camp fires, sap for our maple syrup, fruits and nuts for our tables, and leaf piles to play in. In autumn, they put on a glorious show, a brilliant farewell to summer, a fireworkian finale before retiring for a winter’s nap. All this they do for us without asking anything in return - all hail the giving tree.

Now cheese… cheese has gotten a bad rap these days. “Cheese makes you fat! Cheese is addictive! Cheese is stolen from cows!” Well, yes. All of these things are true. But cheese doesn’t hurt people - people do. Cheese only makes you fat if you eat too much of it. Addictive? Perhaps, but so what? Only the most far-gone of dairy whores will be reduced to giving hand jobs for cheese. And as for the cows - they are usually quite happy to unload their milk, and don’t care if it’s made into cheese or whitewash. Finally, cheese is a staple in the diet of most of Europe… Could millions of Europeans be wrong?**

So today I give thanks for the majestic tree and humble cheese. I embrace them, metephorically speaking, from the confines of my hermetically-sealed environment.

* My nephew really does have SCID, so immunity issues run in the family. Great!

** Rhetorical question.

Technorati Tags: The Boy In The Plastic Bubble, John Travolta, SCID, allergies, oatmeal allergy, rice allergy, lactose intolerance, nature, The Giving Tree, cheese, cheese whore, diet staple

#11: Ray #12: Paul

I may be wage slave from 9 to 5, but I’m Auntie Uppity 24 hours a day.

Auntie is the best gig ever. My nephews and I have pretty much nothing to do but play when we are together. We go on field trip to the Science Center and the Space Needle; we walk to the park and play on the swings. At home, we cuddle under the blanket and watch Disney movies or read books. In the kitchen, Playdoh is pummelled in our hands, pumpkins are gutted and carved, and crayons and paper busy us for hours.

An Auntie’s job can occasionally involve actual work, such as helping on with socks and shoes, reminding to wear jackets or brush teeth, and adjusting the volume on the teevee. Sometimes it even involves cooking, but more often buying pizza.

After all this fun, the kids go home to mom and dad, and in their memories Auntie Uppity is Playdoh, pumpkins, pizza and unconditional love.

Working for The Man pays the bills, but being Auntie Uppity fills the soul.

Technorati Tags: aunts, nephews, unconditional love