My keyboard is acting like it has a mind of its own, so the Campbell’s soup can is in effect until further notice. [Note: I’ve switched from the Cream of Mushroom used by Evanier to Bean with Bacon for Blam’s Blog even though he’ll tell you that Cream of Mushroom obviously makes far more sense.]
The indefatigable Nikki Stafford yesterday shouted out Lost Valentines made by
Lee Bretschneider in her unending battle to direct readers’ attentions to every quality parody of, tribute to, or riff on the show in existence.
At some point, students of French will learn that the word for seal in that language
is phoque — which is pronounced roughly as you think — and they will laugh. I’m using that word in place of the English word it sounds most like for the sake of sensitive readers. The following links, however, are unvarnished in sound and image.
I was just given the OK by my sister to tell this story. Hopefully it translates. It was funny as heck when she shared it with me.
My nephew, whom as before for the purposes of privacy I will refer to as Ishmael,
has become enamored of stuffed animals. Some months ago he started asking for an elephant. Our mother was able to get him one — a pink one, though, as gray stuffed toy elephants are apparently hard to find. Now, at 2½ years old, I don’t think that a pink elephant is in any way either an indicator of nor an influence on his destiny; even if it were, and he ends up a 6'5", 275-lb. ballerino with a life partner named Frank, hey, God bless him. But I understand why my sister was still looking for a regular gray elephant.
And Uncle Brian found a gray elephant.
I bade you all welcome to this experiment one year ago.
Which makes now a good time to reflect on the State of the Blog. The contraction
of that phrase that gives this post its title is, unfortunately, a little too appropriate.
Please understand that I’m not trying to make the blog sound like a chore. Much
about it is nothing but positive to me. It’s just that the glitches with Blogger have been terribly frustrating and serve to compound the natural frustration I had anticipated
due to my own limitations these days. I’ll try to explain why, here, if only to get it off
my chest; you’re welcome to move on to something more fun.
Neil Gaiman once said, "I don’t enjoy writing. I enjoy having written." A cursory
search online finds the quote attributed variously to him, Dorothy Parker, and Robert Louis Stevenson. Wherever it originated, I was surprised to hear it from Gaiman — as I’d be surprised to hear it from any writer. I love writing. I love jotting down notes, I love doing research, I love mulling over the proper word, I love picking apart and reassembling sentences and paragraphs, I love seeing how the whole article, interview, or story balances out. I love the entire writing process, fiction and nonfiction alike.
Drawing? That wears me down.
All the talk about alternate universes in my recent posts on Lost and Fringe has brought to mind an odd little exercise that I wrote, yikes, almost 20 years ago.
I took an intensive Japanese course in the summer of 1991. While about a dozen of
us, from high-school students to established professionals, learned the language in an immersion course led by the venerable Eleanor Harz Jorden, about five times as many Japanese graduate students were learning how to teach the same course. They served as aides to our main instructors and were assigned in rotating pairs to each one of us Americans as private tutors. Despite the fact that we were supposed to speak only Japanese with them, even when socializing, our Japanese being so fundamental and their English generally being so good made that difficult.
A tutor of mine, Ohmaki-san, asked me for help with the r and l problem that’s known to plague Asians speaking English. He was having particular trouble pronouncing the word “rarely” as distinct from “really”; it wasn’t just the consonants, but something in the diphthong. So he asked me to write a dialogue like the Core Conversations in Dr. Jorden’s books for him to practice. For the first time outside of a small group of young folk in Southeastern Pennsylvania, I proudly share the result...
Cold, snowed in, or otherwise fed up with the forecast in your area? Mixing scatology and meteorology at The F---ing Weather might take the edge off the bad news.
While I’m not big on swearing myself, I find the dash-dash-dash deal pretty disingenuous. At the same time, I know that some people are totally thrown for a loop by such language. So just to be clear: The above website spells things out, no fudging, flaming, flipping, frigging, freaking, fricking, or frakking substitutes. Those of you who can handle animated condom creatures getting it on, meanwhile, absolutely must check out the award-winning Durex commercial that’s garnered production company Superfad a pair of Clios for excellence in advertising. Maybe they can help solve the problem that dooms stick people to extinction.
Related: What the F---? • Links to Love • What’s in a Name?
J.J. Abrams and Joss Whedon each premiered a new series on Fox last season, to considerable anticipation from genre buffs and admirers of quality television in general. Fringe, created by Abrams with his Star Trek screenwriting team of Alex Kurtzman & Roberto Orci, has just gone on midwinter hiatus. Whedon’s Dollhouse ended its erratic run of just over two dozen episodes last week.
I began writing this post an entire year ago — the same month this blog launched.
It’s about time.
The final season of Lost begins tonight with a two-hour episode starting at 9 p.m.
ET on ABC. You probably either know this already or don’t care; while casual viewers
of the program are rumored to still exist, at this point it’s hard to imagine they outnumber the Oceanic 6.
Lost was one of the first things I wrote about on this blog.