Neatly trimmed grass
That defines the word green
Stands never having known the snow
Still bowing necks in other climes.

A miniature park, a replica jewel
Where grown men pretend to be boys,
(Though some don't have to pretend,)
And play the game of summer.

And while it may not be their time,
There is still a thrill
When the man shouts,
"Play ball!"

When you bit me on the shoulder, you gave me quite a fright.
And when I ripped your arm off, it was a grisly sight.
But the way you muttered "brains..." I knew it must be right.

A hint of skin,
A wisp of hair.
No other zombie
Can compare.

You're the steel gray apple
Of my dead and bloated eye.
And I couldn't see you shambling
With any other guy.

For someone with your style,
My normal groans won't do.
So if you'll rot with me,
Then I'll decompose with you.

We had a date.
We grabbed a bite.
He didn't even
Put up a fight.

I thought you might not care
Who was eating at your side.
But many other zombies
Came to see what had just died.

And when you drove them off,
I knew your heart was true.
So if you'll rot with me,
Then I'll decompose with you.

If we'd have met
Before we died
You would have made
A stunning bride.

But even now your beauty
Belies your torpid state.
And as long as we're together,
We'll face our common fate.

We can't grow old together,
So we'll share undeath for two.
And if you'll rot with me,
Then I'll decompose with you.

Well you signed us up for a yoga class
Even though you knew I'd fall on my ass.
And I couldn't hold a single pose
While my falling led to a broken nose.

Now we may not be invited back,
But I know this much is true:
I may not share your interests,
But I'm interested in you.

Next you dragged me down to your reading group
Even though the book threw me for a loop.
Well, I'm sure I left your friends enraged
When I hadn't read a single page.

So I may not fathom Shakespeare,
And for Joyce I have no clue.
While I may not share your interests,
I'm still interested in you.

You threw your arms up into the night,
And asked for anything I could do right.
So I pulled you close and I held you tight.

I may not be well-rounded,
But I'm loyal through and through.
And I may not share your interests,
But I'm interested in you.

There once was a man from Racine,
Whose odor was truly obscene.
A whiff of his scent
Generally meant
The smeller would turn olive green.

Our first date was at the cafe.
We didn't talk.
We held our chais to our faces,
Smiled tentative smiles between sips,
And stared into each other's eyes.
Now every time I smell cinnamon
I see your eyes,
And I can't help but smile.
So when you ask
Why I have 'that goofy grin'
over a snickerdoodle,
It's because your eyes
And your smile
Are as beautiful now
As they were on that day
In that cafe,
Behind your chai
Surrounded by the scent
of cinnamon.
And because "snickerdoodle" is just fun to say.

It's Opening Day! It's Opening Day! It's Opening Day!

Okay, now that that's out of the way, some thoughts:

• It's a good thing the game is happening in Texas, considering it's snowing here.
  
• Yes, there may have been a game last night, but that doesn't count. ESPN's Opening Day doesn't affect everybody else's Opening Day. (Even if I did listen to the game... Look, it's been 5 months since anyone has played games that count.)
  
• There's still something about baseball on radio that TV just can't compare with. (As long as the play-by-play voices are at all qualified for the job
  
• It's funny how quickly "It's Opening Day!" turns into "Well, it's only one game." It's the difference between winning and losing.
  
• I still don't understand the "The sky is falling" mentality that accompanies a loss. Yes, I live and die with the team. Yes, my mood is different after a win than a loss. (which is why I'm not a Browns fan. I did my time with the '80s Indians...) And while I've never been of the "We'll get 'em tomorrow" grin and bear it school, I'm still a far cry from the "They'll never beat anyone, ever" school that talk radio call screeners love so much. In a 162 game season every team is going to lose at least 50 games, every hitter is going to take his share of 0 for 4s, and every pitcher is going to give up some runs. Just because it happens in Game 1 doesn't mean it's going to happen every game forward. Just as Emilio Bonifacio isn't going to finish with 162 home runs and 486 stolen bases, nobody's going to finish the season 0 for 600. And no team is going to finish 0-162. Or 162-0 for fans of those teams that have the pristine 1-0 record.
  
• Still... Nice day, Emilio.
  

Lost
In a haze
I've lost my way
Without you
And the only signs
Of where I've been
Are the spots
The darkened stains
Where my teardrops
Leave their mark
On the ground
As I pass
Again and again
I see the trail
Where I've been
And tears fall
At the thought
That I can't break
From this path
Without you
I've lost my way
In a haze
Lost

Official Nanowrimo word count for November 2008: 3451. A step back from last year. However, certain health issues that have since been dealt with (owie.) played a part in this year's lackluster showing. As such, I'm going to try again, turning December, or possibly January (again, owie) into National Novel Writing Month Mark II. Hopefully, just sitting down at the keyboard won't cause the abject despair that came over me in November. I'll have to see sometime when I'm slightly more awake (and again... owie).

Running some errands,
walking home from the store
Try to beat the crowd.

Pause as more and more
people fill the avenue.
Spaces grow tighter.

Shoulder to shoulder.
A person at every turn.
No
Room
For
Breathing.

Turning
Bumping
Shuffling
Sweating
Shaking
Dropping
Stuttering
Scrambling
Clenching

Breathe.

Gasping
Struggling
Dodging
Searching
Darting
Jostling
Veering
Crushing
Sobbing

Breathe.

Reaching
Fumbling
Turning
Stumbling
Climbing
Trembling
Stretching
Opening
Lunging
Slamming

Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
As I lean against the door
In my apartment.

Oasis of air
Closed against the teeming throng.
My heart rate subsides.

So unless I scratch together some 2500 words in an hour and a half (possible for... you know... other people) I'm going to end another day behind the pace necessary to get to 50,000. I'm just not motivated to write so far this year. (Though it is only three days in...) Though interestingly, at a time when I'm "not motivated to write," I've updated this journal as much as I have the rest of the year. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to transcribing a handwritten paragraph into my novel.

So... Another attempt at National Novel Writing Month approaches rapidly, and I find myself not nearly as excited as I have been in years past. Of course, given the quick burn outs in those years, maybe this is a good thing... It remains to be seen.

Part of the problem is that I'm not as comfortable with my idea as I have been in years past. Of course, given the quick burn outs in... Well, you get the idea.

So I thought I'd take an opportunity to look over past plots and contrast with the list of this year's ideas to see if I can work out the problem.

Nano '05: Conventions. The rise of a mild mannered corporate drone to mild mannered industrial giant is examined over the course of his interactions at ten conventions throughout his life. The dual goal of this book was to have most actions that advance the plot occur "offscreen" and related in flashbacks and to load in every cliché (or literary convention... See that? I'm operating on two levels here. Tricky.) I could. Final word count: Under 3000 (I seem to remember it being between 1,000 and 3,000, but the only file I can find on my computer has 319 words.)

Nano '06: Illegal Procedures. A story from a character background for a favorite Dungeons and Dragons character, involving stealing jewels that didn't exist. All the chapter titles (and the book title for that matter) were to be named for penalties in American Football. My favorite: "Illegal use of the hands". Final word count: 1,657.

Nano '07: Earthbound. On the approach of a massive radioactive asteroid to a near future Earth, a group of scouts get launched into space looking for a viable planet to evacuate humanity to. In desperation I dumped pretty much any science fiction story I could think of into the effort to up my word count. Not exactly something to be proud of, especially considering the following. Final word count: 5,455.

Which brings us to:

Nano '08 Idea 1: Untitled. A brainstorming exercise led to a science fiction universe where the nobility held their positions through their control of space travel, and I had progressed to the former nobleman who had lost his position and was conspiring with a group of scientists to build new ships when I realized that I just had to change "space travel" to "the drug that allows space travel" and "scientists" to "Fremen" and I was describing Dune. So on to Plan B I went.

Nano '08 Idea 2: The Baron of Nobody Cared. Another fantasy based on a Role Playing Game scenario, except this one involves the post-quest (The Big Bad Guy dies on the first page... First sentence in fact.) adventures of... well... the main character. I can tell you there's an assassination attempt, a kidnapping, side-firing catapults, and at least four trebuchets, I can't tell you the main character's name, or much of anything else about him. This is an issue.

Nano '08 Idea 3: Untitled. A science fiction noir mystery in which a Sam Spade wannabe investigates disappearances on a floating city. Told in the first person, this one would literally start "It was a dark and stormy night" which makes me smile. But doesn't really convince me the humor would keep me going through the entire month.

So, just looking at the titles it's apparent that Idea 2 is what's going to start forming in my word processor come midnight. Here's hoping that over the next month, my main character starts to develop a personality, because I ain't there yet.

Down Home Fashion Plate

Well I got gold studded jeans
That ain't never seen dirt.
And I got diamond cuff links
For my plaid flannel shirt.

Well my red carpet style
Has got 'em pretty irate.
I wear my string tie in black.
'Cause I'm the down home fashion plate.

Style section? Front page.
Setting trends? All the rage.
Best dressed? No debate.
I'm the down home fashion plate.

{twangy guitar solo}

Yeah, I wore my cowboy boots
On the cover of GQ,
'Cause some fellah in New York
Can't tell me what to do.

Well, they paired me with a model,
So I asked her on a date.
And of course she said yes,
'Cause I'm a down home fashion plate.

Hot club? I'm there
Dress code? Don't care.
Long line? I don't wait.
'Cause I'm the down home fashion plate.

{even twangier guitar solo}

My ten gallon hat's
Got nine gallons of bling.
And my silver belt buckle's
In the shape of the King.

I'm the good ol' boy
All the yankees love to hate.
I got southern high style.
I'm the down home fashion plate.

Day one: A discovery!
Day two: Calm reserve.
The new lab assistant
Is a pleasure to observe.

Day three: Established pattern.
Day four: Status quo.
If she just sees my pluses
Then surely love will grow.

Day six: Altered pattern.
Day nine: To no avail.
It seems I must do more than watch
Or this experiment will fail.

Day thirteen: Signs of interest.
Day fourteen: False alarm.
My thoughts become a jumble
when subjected to her charm.

Day seventeen: All quiet.
Day twenty: Losing hope.
My degrees prove cold comfort
As I feel like a dope.

Day twenty-four: No progress.
Day thirty: Like the rest.
The scientific method
Didn't help me on this test.

While I was trying to get to sleep this evening I felt something on my shoulder rather resembling an crawling insect. Not really thinking about it, I took a feeble swing at swatting what was as likely to be a phantom nerve impulse as anything...

Until I felt the sting.

So the next thing I know I'm sitting bolt upright scrambling for a light switch, not so much because the pain in my finger was so great, but because I'm allergic enough to bee stings that I have, in the past, gone into shock from one.

So, sure enough, once the light is on I see a fuzzy bundle of yellow and black flying away from me. Fortunately, I'm alert anough at this point to make my way to the medicine cabinet to grab some allergy medicine. Unfortunately, I'm jumpy enough at this point that every time something brushes my back on the trip... like, say, my hair... I'm jumping and turning looking for the next insectoid assault. Which fortunately never came.

So now, I'm sitting at the computer waiting for my heart rate to drop sufficiently and checking for the more serious symptoms of this fun little allergy. Fortunately, what I'm typing seems to be fairly lucid (at least as lucid as my writing gets...), so it looks like I've avoided the worst of the possibilities. Still, not the best way to spend a night.

Record high mid sixties temperatures? Check.

Heater off, window open? Check.

Indians game on the radio? Check.

Doesn't help that I know nothing of interest happens until the bugs descend on Joba Chamberlain in the 8th, but it's a game and it makes me happy.

The 33rd Annual CWRU Film Society Science Fiction Movie Marathon is a mere two weeks away and I haven't mentioned it here yet. But hey... two weeks...

Anyway, this is one of the more obvious theme marathons as a full 10 of the 13 announced movies feature zombies, constructs or the undead of some sort. And there's a good bet that the 14th (also known as "Surprise II") will be "Doctor X" as not only was this movie scheduled to play in Marathon 23, the last horror marathon, but the movie scheduled to show immediately after Surprise II is "The Return of Doctor X", a movie with absolutely nothing to do with the original "Doctor X". (But "The Return" does feature a young and horribly miscast Humphrey Bogart, so that should be entertaining at the least.)

While movies like "Fido" and "Black Sheep" (zombie sheep. I repeat, zombie sheep.) sound intriguing, and it's always good to see Chuck Heston chew on some scenery in "Omega Man", I'm pretty ambivalent towards most of the movies. But then, it's been years since I've gone to one of these for the movies anyway. Other people go to their reunions, I go to marathons.

For... a while now... I've had headaches (or quite possibly one big nasty headache that hung around for months... not impossible) that have absolutely destroyed any attempt I've made to concentrate. Hasn't mattered what I've been doing, it's been a matter of minutes before I was ready to do something else. (more often than not, curl up in a ball with my head under cover. Hasn't been a fun time.)

The two things that have been the hardest have been reading and writing. So I've spent quite a bit of time trying to find activities other than the big two...

That hasn't gone so well.

There have been some brief flirtations with short-duration games, (I have never appreciated Tetris with a time limit more than I do now.) a whole lot of music listened to, more pain pills taken than any other time in my life, and all in all more time spent staring off into space than even I'm comfortable with.

It feels like the pain is going away, but the inability to focus is being somewhat more stubborn. (which definitely makes it mine...) So even now, despite having a stack of books that I want to read and a stack of projects that I want to write, every attempt to figure out something to do begins with "Other than". I'm tired. I'm frustrated. I'm ready for this to be over.

Any time now.

I had to put down my copy of Dune to refill my humidifier...

Woke this morning to the sound of ceiling tiles falling onto a computer desk. Of course it took a while to identify the sounds of ceiling tiles falling onto a computer desk, especially at six in the morning. But when there are tiles on the chair and floor surrounding said desk, and several of the sounds were metallic, it doesn't require Holmesian deductive skills to assemble the puzzle. Fortunately, nothing's broken (well, except the ceiling... but that ship sailed years ago).

Now it's just a matter of deciding if I really want to know if there's a cause over and above gravity or if I'll just chalk it up to the structure flexing in the wind. After all, if I don't think about what caused it, I don't have to think about how much it would cost to fix. Now if only it would restrain the dropping of tiles to decent hours... Though I suppose I could have actually been in the chair at the time...

Gave up trying to find my old copy of Neuromancer so I bought a new copy. Also found a nice copy of Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman on the bargain rack, and since I've taken to reading his web journal, I may as well read one of his books. ...Well, I've added it to the "to read:" pile. Now it's just a matter of whittling down the pile enough to get to it.