Surprising Vicky…

As most of you probably know, I don't write about everything on this Blog. Some things remain just between me and, well, me…. At least until later, when I finally write about it. (This is important, as you'll see in the next My Side.)

This comes in handy because Vicky sometimes reads this site and would have found out far too soon if I'd written about the surprise party I was planning for her. Yep. We threw it this weekend at Trish and Clay's place. Trish and Clay are friends of Vicky's. Actually Trish, along with Paula and Billy, will be Vicky's chicks-of-honor at the wedding, and it was with these three that I planned the fun.

It had started over a month ago. I knew I couldn't plan it alone - face it, party planning is best left to women cause men suck at it… except when it's for a guy's party… But this was for a woman's party, so…

Originally, I was going to throw it at our new home but quickly saw that it would be too small and there'd be kids there and I didn't want kids there - it's hard enough to walk with cats under your feet! But Trish was kind enough to offer her place. Paula offered to make the cake and she makes wonderful gourmet cakes. And Billy offered to supply food. Sounded good to me!

But then, we had to figure out how to get Vicky to the party. How? We went through several plans. Then, Trish invited Vicky to a "girl's night out". Vicky picked the restaurant but it was in the wrong direction for Vicky to have to drive out to Trish's. Then, Trish changed the restaurant. Then, Vicky's grandmother went into the hospital and - let's face it, there were several times when this party looked like it was SUNK!

But Vicky showed up Saturday afternoon, nearly on schedule (the whole party was nearly on schedule - which is good enough!) and she was very surprised. The theme was Purple Princess, since Vicky loves purple and her nickname is Princess. (No need to send your condolences… I'm fully aware!) So, we had lots of purple things and princess things - for instance, the cake was a plush purple pillow with a tiara on it. We all had purple martinis. We ate on purple plates under purple balloons.

She had a great time and I was the best boyfriend in the world… which is good, because I won't be her boyfriend next year… and I certainly won't be planning any surprise parties… so, Vicky, don't expect one!

The world just gets weirder…

A few things I haven't had a chance to comment on that are just plain wrong:

1) John Bolton. "The United Nations doesn't exist." Mr. "Let's Tear Up the Treaties" at the State Department is going to be our ambassador to the UN???

2) Apparently, there are so many guys that want to do Britney, her being pregnant has to make the front page of every paper in the land.

3) Intolerance and ignorance is not just becoming more politically incorrect but, rather, some folks in Congress are raising issues when people try to push tolerance and education.

4) The emergency military spending bill that just passed at over 80 BILLION contained a baseball stadium for DC… which is important militarily because…

5) Starting today, cigarette lighters will be banned from all flights in the nation… but you can still pack your GUN!

6) The worst terrorist in the nation right now is white. His name is Eric. So don't feed me bullshit about threats from Iraqis or Iranians!

7) John Negroponte is a war criminal who ordered the murder, rape, and disappearance of many people in central America during the Reagan years and now he's being fed to us as the next "Intelligence Czar".

Okay, so that's more than a few. I was feeling generous.

Happy Birthday, Dear Vicky…

Yes, you heard correctly. Today is my Vicky's birthday. Vicky turns 27 today but, for all her 24 years, she still looks 18.

We plan to enjoy a quiet evening together with dinner, a movie, and some champagne.

… in bed.

Yep. Strange as that may seem, that's the plan… which you probably don't find very strange because it has to do with me, right? Well, it's Vicky's doing, not mine. You see, back on Valentine's day, Vicky gave me these Romance Lotto Tickets. Sadly, they weren't the pornographic kind… dammit. So, I scratched off a ticket and got a movie date. Yippie! Took her about two months to honor that one. Next, I scratched one and got a movie with champagne in bed… ooookay….

So, we're mixing both together and coming up with tonight. Weird? Sure. But I figure she should start getting used to that pretty soon.

Now, before you start sending tons of presents, remember that Vicky likes money - truckloads of money - in large bills. Just send them to me and I'll see to it that they find her…

… for the most part…

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VIC!

Monster Errors…

Sometimes I think the worst thing about this online life we lead is the propensity for hidden mistakes.

For instance:

I've been loving life at Lintgear - I've been loving it so much I've been dying to get out. So, my resume went up onto Monster years ago in the search for a new job. Mind you, with little luck… actually, none!

I've gone into it every time I've moved to change my address and contact info.

Then, today, I got an email regarding a job I'd applied for through Monster, requesting a hard copy email. No problem, I thought, but I couldn't help wonder what my email looked like over Monster. It looked like a mess, of course.

I scrolled down, making sure everything was right and then got to the "References" section.
And the first name in the "References" section…… was Rosa. THERE'S SOMETHING I'VE FORGOTTEN TO UPDATE!

You can probably imagine now why I haven't been able to find a new job...

Vampire Society… Finished!

Well, I finished the first draft and that is, for all intents and purposes, finished!

This happened Saturday but the damned Blog site was down so… welcome to Monday.

I'd forgotten what this feels like, this odd sensation of closing the book, quite literally. You spend so much time with these characters - five years in this case - and, suddenly, they no longer belong to you. They've served their purpose and now are to be read, not written about.

You feel as thought you lost them.

My actor friends might imagine how it feels when a show closes and the leave their character behind and then add years to the time you spent with them and add the fact that you created them yourself, lines and everything.

I'd forgotten how hard that is and I'd forgotten what inevitably follows. I refer to it as "post-partum depression" because you feel as though you gave birth… but you also feel like the baby left home the same day… I sat out on my patio Saturday night, drank a few screwdrivers, smoked a few cloves, and imagined I was sitting in the living room of Abigail Ayrnes with Abby and Nathan West and Arthur Silvada - the stars of our show.

"I never got a chance to redeem you," I said to Arthur.

"I was never meant to be redeemed," he said.

"And you," I tossed at Nathan.

"I know," he said. "I was your voice. I was the narrator. Now that the book is done, I'm surprised to find I can speak."

"Speak? You can sing if you want to." I'd given him that ability, even if he'd never used it in the book.

Abby walked over and knelt in front of me. "What about me?" she asked. "How are you going to leave me behind?"

Vampire Society is mostly about Abby. "I don't know," I answered, taking her hands. "I've known you longer than I've known Vicky. I guess, in a way, it's not cheating to be in love with you but, let's face it, you're a Rosa character."

"I am not," she huffed, standing.

I followed, still holding onto her hands. "Think about it. Short mexican girl, curly red hair."

"Rosa's hair wasn't red."

"It was when she died it. Oh, never as red as yours but she would have liked it that way. Holding on to you would be as wrong as holding on to her. I've been able to let her live her life, it's time I let you live yours."

"Sure," she sighed.

"You've got a good start. You should be fine."

And she tilted her head up to kiss me.

And Vicky shook me awake. I'd forgotten that I'd moved inside to lie on the sofa.

The book's not finished yet, I know that. In two weeks, I'll have a copy printed up - thanks, Vicky! - and I'll make my corrections and take a few things out and add a few things and, with any luck, I'll have a final draft. (After spending five years writing it, do you really expect me to go through multiple rewrites???) When all that is done, I'll be ready to start submitting it to agencies… and getting rejected…

Is it any wonder I like theater so much? You get your rejection out of the way at the beginning!

What's to come? I'm not sure. I don't think I want to work on a play; I've rediscovered writing novels and love it! A book, then. And, here too, I waffle. Should I pick up an old work that I haven't finished? Maybe, but there's this idea coming in through my peripheral vision… an old story…. a mix of several… a lonely writer… a failed marriage… the Grand Canyon… a monster storm… and the sunshine at the end…

… We'll see.

I Killed Jon Benet Ramsey...

Well, I can't say I've reach 89,000 yet, but I'm close. And, as promised, I have that poem:

I killed Jon Benet Ramsey
Just as surely as if I was there
I killed her with every tabloid I read at the supermarket
I killed her with every television show I watched
That told me all the salacious details of her young body
I killed her with every joke I listened to or told
I killed her by not providing protection for any child
Or a good world for them to live in
I killed her by allowing killing
With every selfish thought and unkind deed, I killed her
I killed Jon Benet Ramsey

The Home Stretch…

Why do they call it that? Does one stretch differently when they're at home? What's that have to do with coming to the end of something? Do you stretch your end at home?

It's all so confusing.

So, anyway, I hit 88,000 words in Vampire Society today. This was a book I wasn't too sure would hit 80K and here we are at the cusp of 90K! I'm very close to the end. This morning, I actually outlined the last few scenes, which is actually one long scene and all I outlined were points to hit. I have so much to fit in because, perhaps surprisingly, so many threads are coming together at this late date. Even after I thought I'd wrapped things up, it turns out that this book has been one long string of dominos.

I'm actually going to finish it. I'm shocked.

Tonight, I'm going to write a poem I've wanted to write for nearly 10 years. Actually, I should say that I'm going to "try" to write it. You never know. The poem is called "I Killed Jon Benet Ramsey" and is about how each of us is responsible for the other, like it or not. I first got the idea back when the poor girl was killed. Then, as this book has progressed, I realized it was the perfect poem for Abby (one of Vampire Society's protagonists) to write. And so, I will. And so, she will.

I'll probably post it tomorrow.

I really wasn't anticipating finishing this book until the summer but I guess it just had to come out. It's like giving birth… without all the blood… and the machine that goes "PING"!

Now and Then...

This is the only NOW you'll ever have... no.... this one...

No....

This one....

When we stacked all of our junk up against the garage door - keeping in mind that our garage was converted to a spare room - we never expected water to seep in during the wetting winter on record. But it did. And I was just lucky enough to have put the box that has everything I have left of my life with Rosa on the ground against that door.

Yep. You got it.

Wet box.

Vicky gave me a big Rubbermaid container to transfer everything into.

... I did that today.

One of the first things I saw was that, with our old wedding album, there were two packs of extra inserts. Just like Rosa to buy extra she'd never use and leave me to clean it up. I tossed them, thinking that would be the last time I'd ever clean up after her... two years after I last saw her.

Then, the wedding album on top, I just opened it up for shits and giggles.

... and there we were.

God. We were so young. She was so beautiful. I was actually not too bad looking, believe it or not.

In all the pictures, we smiled.

And I felt that pain in your gut like someone trying to force a '57 Chevy into your liver and my breath caught and I put the book away. I packed up the rest of the box. And I put it at the bottom of a stack of other boxes.

Pain both existential and physical…

First, the physical.

Thanks to our hike last weekend (told in OCMetroblog), Vicky found she really liked hiking. So, I let her pick us a hike to do this weekend. Saturday morning, we went out to Crystal Cove State Park.

We got there a little later than I liked, around 9am - I hate hiking in the heat, and were shocked to find that one of our water bottles had spilled out into the backpack. It was already warm and half of our water was gone, which alone should have been enough to tell us to leave the hike for another day…. after our deaths! But, no, we went.

Now, I've been on some tough hikes and I've been on some long hikes but should have known that any hike featuring it's own Hell Mouth was one we shouldn't have tried. The trail was incredibly poorly designed; we up straight up one ridge and straight down the other side, then straight up one and straight down another. Up and down. Up and down. No shade had been devised, nor was there any place to sit. Thankfully, though, we made it to a picnic area and got to rest. Now, this park is shaped roughly like a triangle, and we'd finished one side. With two to go, we continued. The trails followed service roads and washes, connected only by narrow tracks cut in the middle of very tall mustard plants. And it was hot. It was the hottest day we'd had in a while… and we were walking right in the middle of it with only half of our water straight up the side of one ridge and straight down the other.

Talk of getting a Jamba Juice or having an ice, cold beer kept us going. I gotta tell you, Vicky was a real trooper. Not once did she say she couldn't go any further. She knew what we'd gotten ourselves into - we couldn't stop! We had to get back to the car! And with no shade and no place to sit, once you started there was no stopping.

When we finally made it back to the car and returned to the visitor center - Refill our water bottle, please! We're VERY thirsty! - we found out that the hike, which was supposed to have been 3 miles long, was probably closer to 7 miles straight up and straight down!

Vicky, welcome to hiking.

Doing this Saturday meant that we spent the rest of the weekend in agony. (I, for one, forgot to put sunblock on the back of my neck. It's still red.)

Existential...

Then, I awoke at 5:30 am this morning, which thanks to the time change was actually 4:30… dammit… from a dream that left me feeling, well, pretty bad.

It went something like this…

I was flying back from the east coast after a business trip and met this woman on the plane who… even in the dream world, I couldn't forget her. She was engaged to be married and we talked about wedding planning and our future spouses - spices? - but there was much more going on there. I was captivated. I got in the car with my co-workers back at LAX and told them about her. I'd learned her name (since forgotten) but never got her number or anything about her.

"There should be number like 1-800-WEDDING," I said at one point. "That way I could call and give her name and ask about her. She'd be listed in their database because she's been setting up her wedding, too." It was one of those stupid ideas that only makes sense in the dream… but even my co-workers thought it was a little nutty.

But then, she called me, being more resourceful or something. She was going to be coming down my way and wanted to get together on the pretense of further comparing wedding notes.

We met back at my place, which looked nothing like the home Vicky and I share. Vicky was gone so I quickly tried to set it up as more a love nest than a place where you plan weddings. Vicky had these bootleg CDs (don't ask me why) but every time I opened a case a N64 game cartridge was inside. The girl was already over and wanted to know what I was doing. I told her. And we agreed we were both very attracted to each other but didn't want to louse up our weddings and, after all, we'd probably never see each other again. So, we were both good… we behaved… until she left. Then, the fact that we'd probably never see each other again made it that much more important that we kiss goodbye.

… which was when I woke up.

And I laid there in the dark, next to Vicky, wondering what I'd just done. I hadn't done anything. It was a dream. But even in my dream I was less than honorable. I was deceptive. And a familiar fear kept me from getting out of bed, the conviction that I didn't want to cheat on Vicky - I didn't want another relationship to crash and burn because of my stupidity. And, yet, I couldn't even control myself in a dream…

The difference between paranoia and perceptiveness lies in the beholder, I guess...

Praying for Death and Dying from Prayer…

(And, before you ask, this is not an April Fool's joke...)

Just a few things…

Schiavo. A single word that encompasses so much stupidity. We all know the story: Coma, feeding tube, death. Tom Delay and the Republicans (sounds like a band!) made so much noise about this and ignored the real problems with the nation, bringing the media right along with them. Why? Well, Delay had problems and had to find a distraction. Michael Jackson wasn't good enough. So, they picked a dying woman on a feeding tube and said it was unnatural for her to die. Unnatural. Death is unnatural but keeping a vegetable alive on a feeding tube is.

Hello, NewSpeak!

Let's face it, folks. I don't see the outrage that all dying people should be given feeding tubes to allow them to live - all the people in Iraq, for instance. It's a non-issue. And, yet, the Repugnicans use this distraction to spread such disinformation as "Hospices are Evil" (did you hear that one?), while keeping such news from you as the commission that found ONCE AGAIN that there were never any WMDs or the study that found more proof of humanity's inhumanity towards the planet or the dwindling oil supplies or any of a hundred other things. Look at it this way - in one year the name Shiavo will be forgotten and we'll still be living on a doomed planet. (Doomed for all life, at least…)

The Pope. He's been dying for a long time now. We'd better get him a feeding tube! The vitality of the Catholic church is proven by this dying man at its head. It's an embarrassment and a sham!

The Praying Doctors. Last night, at the gym, I saw a story on the news that made me want to vomit. (And, if you've never seen someone doing that while running, it's not pretty.) There's a pair of conjoined twins being operated on in LA. Last night, the doctors came outside of the hospital with the family and prayed on television.

You know, when I was a kid, there was a joke about praying doctors. The point was they couldn't be that good. But we live in a society where we have so little faith in science and so much in our moronic superstitions that we take comfort in doctors who pray. Public displays of faith have become so grotesque of late, God's taking Tums. There's nothing wrong with having a spiritual life but when it comes before common sense, you have a problem.

And, folks, our society is full of them.

Full of it as well.

We obviously aren't a society interested in what's important. Our values have become so twisted that more people are interested in who wins a talent show on television than in who is running the nation into the ground. This week, (burning) Bush appointed a former chief lobbyist for the Safari Club, a club that kills captive wildlife for trophies as the head of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. And nobody even blinked.

If anyone with any power ever decided to stand up for common-sense, rational thinking, it seems painfully obvious that the majority of Americans would be angrily, militarily opposed!

We should all be very ashamed.

More reasons to hate Wal-Mart...

More dirt from the Wal-Mart Fact Checkers:

Wal-Mart took another hit last Friday, agreeing to pay $11 million and settle federal allegations that illegal immigrants have been paid to clean its stores for years. The government investigation, called Operation Rollback, found illegal immigrant janitors working at 60 Wal-Mart locations in 21 states since 2000.

Sure, great news that they're helping employ all of our illegals but it is unconscionable that these people are paid a pittance and not provided health care... you know, aside from Wal-Mart breaking the law. And this is a different issue from their violations of child labor laws!

Let's not support this crap. Don't give these people your money.

The New Democrats are Republican...

You've heard me say it and I'll say it again. The Democratic party has been infiltrated by Republicans and, sad as it may be, Hillary is one of them. Going the way of Leiberman, she's attacking the nation's #1 threat: games...

New York senator and former first lady Hillary Clinton has launched an attack on violent videogames, singling out Rockstar's Grand Theft Auto titles as a "major threat" to morality.

Clinton, who is reportedly planning to seek the Democratic presidential nomination for the 2008 election, has aligned herself with hardline right-wing Republican senators in order to pressure Congress into researching the impact of electronic media on children.

"Children are playing a game that encourages them to have sex with prostitutes and then murder them," she said in a statement on the issue. "This is a silent epidemic of media desensitisation that teaches kids it's OK to diss people because they are a woman, they're a different colour or they're from a different place."

Fucking morons. Say it with me people:

GAME ARE FICTION. IMAGINARY. THEY'RE NOT REAL!

Pimping for the Lord…

My mom has decided to make a Christian out of me.

She's going to be sorely disappointed. (One is tempted to make a comment here, such as "What's beneath my toenails should cover it.") (But I won't.)

She sent me some evangelical literature the other day, written by Billy "The Axe" Graham. Mighty nice of her, except I never asked for it and she never bothered to ask if I'd like it.

Now, I've never been fond of pushy people. If she'd been a salesperson, I would have told her to eat shit. If she'd have been a stranger, I would have told her to fuck off. But, she's my mother, so I decided a nice phone call was in order.

"You know I'm not Christian," I told her. "Sending this stuff to me is a complete waste of time."

"Well, it's my time to waste," she replied, missing my point completely.

I felt like telling her, "Look, even if believing in an imaginary man up in the sky was in any way remotely rational, I still wouldn't be a Christian because, for the most part, Christians are evil people. They're opposed to welfare. They promote wars of aggression. They spit on the Constitution. They are hypocritical, pushy slime who would be struck down by their God in a wrathful way… if he existed."

But, I didn't. I got off the phone and disposed of her package with the cat shit.

Torture, Death, and Dentistry…

(This was supposed to be posted yesterday but this damn site's been down.... so, let's pretend it's yesterday!) (Yuck! I'd rather pretend it was Friday!)

Today, I have my first dental appointment in five years… yes, that's right. Five years!

Five years without a cleaning. Can you imagine? The hygienist is in there, rooting around (no pun intended), when she asks, "Mr. La Celle, when was the last time you ate sesame seeds?"

"Um, 1987," I answer.

Which is when she uncontrollably vomits...

See, here's the thing. When Rosa and I split up, I figured there was no sense in taking care of my self because, after all, my life was over. I was ready to die, right? And then the trip to the Grand Canyon didn't work out. (For those not in "the know", I was supposed to kill myself. Nothing ever goes as planned.) And then, I met Vicky.

All of a sudden, my life wasn't over any longer. It was taking a new start, something I hadn't foreseen, and not taking care of myself was no longer such a good plan.

I went to the doctor and found out I was in pretty good health. Pretty amazing, considering.
Last year, I lost a filling. I was in a show; it was the night of a performance. I was eating licorice, which ripped the filling right out! (That was an interesting night, to say the least!) So, I know I need that redone!

But dentists and I have never been the best of friends. Dentists have always been bad news. When my adult teeth were coming in, and the baby teeth didn't want to come out on their own, a dentist had to break my old teeth to be able to pull them. That was fun! Then, I had a dentist drill and fill three teeth - WITHOUT ANESTHETIC! More fun for me!

So, I don't like dentists.

Dentists are the kind of people who will say, "I don't know, Mr. La Celle. This tooth looks like it's ready to go."

"Are you sure?" I'd ask.

Then, he'd hit me in the mouth with a hammer, taking out several teeth and say, "Yep, I'd say you've got a few bad ones. Looks like the other side of the mouth might need some work, too."
"Okay! Okay!" I'd yell, spitting blood and bits of tooth. "I trust you!"

Dentists always had a very Ren&Stimpy-esque quality to me.

This time, I had to find a new dentist, one who took my insurance. And how do you do that? I mean, really? The bastards at 1-800-RIPYOURTOOTHOUT are only on there by virtue of having paid for membership. You can't believe your insurance companies.

And the ads! Oh, crap! The ads! "My name's Bob Murzasky, founder and graduate of the Murzasky school of dentistry. I founded my own school because those other schools - the bastards who wouldn't let me attend - don't teach the basics. Here, we teach you the Hammer, the Chisel, the Vise, the String and the Doorknob, and, of course, all the latest techniques in torture perfected by our friends in the US government. I didn't have to go to a real school to become a dentist and neither do you at the Murzasky school of dentistry."

This is when the voice-over comes in. "The Murzasky school of dentistry is not a qualified dental school and is actually located in Bob's kitchen. Stay away! Stay far away! Don't look in the basement! No! Don't! Oh, god! The bodies! Rotting flesh! The horror! Oh, God! The horror! Aaaaarrrggghhhhhhh!"

…. yeah, I hate dentists...

Babbling about babbling…

Babbling. They say that babies do it. They say that brooks do it.

Well, they ain't got nothing on me.

Folks, I am the original Babbler. In fact, if I was a super-villain, that would be my name: The Babbler! And my costume would have "Blah. Blah. Blah." written all over it You see what I mean? That's babbling!

Of course, any reader probably knows this very well by now. Vicky's learning.

I just finished writing a piece for the book. It's a political speech. It took me about 20 minutes to write and was over a thousand words in length. That's more than 50 words/minute!... With no rewrites!

Stuff like that comes very easily to me, though. My third novel, Revelations - still not available at a store near you, thanks to those bastard publishing houses! - was filled with sermons, being a book about religion provided for that. I loved writing sermons and they came pretty quickly, just like this speech.

I really am in the wrong line of work. And I'd get into politics in a minute… if they'd pay me. I'd work on attending a School of Theology, if only religion wasn't so hypocritical and just plain wrong as a matter of course. Instead, I write these books.

I also tend to babble in public, given the opportunity - any opportunity - so just watch yourself. You give me time and I'll expound on any topic: religion, economics, history, culture (both pop and high), food, life… In fact, I'll often blend them together, going round and round… mostly in an effort to more forward to a topic with which I'm more interested… which could change in seconds. This happens more so as I've been drinking.

And what was the point of this? There is none, really. I'm just babbling.

Jogging at 100 miles per hour…

Honest to Bob, I don't know what the hell's going on with my body. I look heavier but I weigh less. My pants are tighter but I'm in better condition.

… I have the sniffles a little.

It's annoying, this getting old stuff.

I've mentioned before that I've been working out but I'm not getting the results I want. Time to kick it up a notch. (BAM!) (Sorry!!!!) Rather than five times/week (which actually turns out to be more like four), now, I'm gonna pump it up to eight! (Mind you, I'll probably die as a result…. But at my funeral, you can say I look thin… especially since I plan to be cremated…)

So, it started last night. I went to the gym in the evening, after Vicky and I spent the morning hiking - where went the days of smokes and scotch??? - and hit the treadmill. It goes a long way back, my desire to run… probably as far back as junior high school, when I would shoplift Hustler magazines and run like hell…

But my attention was taken off my own machine by this woman at 10o'clock. She was RUNNING at full tilt with the incline on the treadmill set WAY up… You just wanted to watch her either die or achieve flight! (She's the one going 100 miles per hour, by the way…)

I jogged for 45 minutes, eating up a respectable 3.5 miles. All the while, I was watching The Contender on TV. What an amazingly stupid show! Here, we have Sly telling boxers he knows what they're going through. Pardon?! He ACTED like he knew - he never KNEW! Then, before these guys can box, they have to do interviews and obstacle courses and - isn't this a show about boxing??? All the while, I'm jogging with the Rocky theme going through my head. "Gonna DIE now!!!!"

Remarkable Rob-ness…

Before we get to today's My Side, let me get this out of the way. I hit the 80,000 word mark today. The plan now is to work the points of the essay into the climax of the book, which will now be drawn out over three chapters, rather than two. I'll end up with probably 90,000 words, my shortest book since My Side, my first, but that's okay.

Now, on to the show….

Yeah, 80,000. I'm stoked.

Here's a clip: Allowing one child to think it's okay to hurt anyone can be disastrous. This is how Hitlers are born. This is how vampires propagate.

I'm sorry… where was I?...

Ah, yes!

Rob!

Robert Sassone. (I knew him as a boy.) Born 1966. Haven't seen in: Forever. Reads My Side: Often. Eats goldfish: Only once and it was late and he's just seen A Fish Called Wanda and…

Rob and I probably wouldn't recognize each other if we passed on the street but, believe it or not (believe it), there was once a time when we were inseparable. No, no handcuff or crazy glue jokes. I'm serious. We got along famously for many years and then life, that bitch, pulled us off in different directions. Oh, we've dropped each other the occasional line now and then. Thankfully, this Blog helps me pass along messages, too.

I took a lot from those years we were tied at the hip. Even today, I can't look at certain things or hear certain things without thinking of Rob.

Here's an example of each…

Tim came up from San Diego last week. The last time he'd done that, he decided to raid my fridge at about 3am. We knew we couldn't afford another hit like that… what to do? What to do?

And then it came to me. SALAMI.

"Salami?" Vicky sounded like I'd just suggested neck skin… not that there's anything wrong with neck skin.

So, I had to explain to her, "You know how Tim and I get together and drink? Well, Rob and I used to get together, kick about, shoot the breeze, and eat salami. Those big, dried ones they sell at the store. We'd just cut off a hunk and talk. Salami and cheese. Those were the days!"

But, sadly, one of the points of this, Rob, is that the good, old days are long done. Vicky sliced the salami and cheese into a nice platter… and it was actually better than slicing off a hunk and talking. Okay, so we'll leave that to the past. Still, it was like you were there, too.

I can never listen to Planet P or Planet P Project - one band with two names from the 80's - without thinking of Rob. One scream from Tony Carey's voice and I'm back in Rob's parent's station wagon, driving to a rehearsal or to Rick Habib's place up in Hollywood. Yep. Good times.

But, sadly, one of the points of this, Rob, is that the good, old days are long gone. I picked up the newest Planet P Project cd a couple of months ago on Amazon… and it arrived this week. (I hate Amazon!) Tony Carey wasn't screaming like he used to… in fact, he sounded… old…

The years pass and times fade into the mist but the people who share our lives pop up now and then even when they're not there and it's always nice to see them because it reminds us how much fun we had along the way.

Thanks, Rob.

A Love Story about…

Vampire Society is a Love Story About Values…

Those words were the magic key that fit the lock and all the tumblers fell into place. For 15-20 minutes, at least, the world was perfect, everything was as it should be, and…

Let's stop here for a second. Pay close attention. The minute you feel like the world is perfect and everything is as it should be, that's a clear sign that you should be VERY AFRAID. Watch out. You're about to get hit.

… and I'd be able to finish this book now with no problems, no hesitation, no worries at all. Because it made so much sense. Of course, it's a love story about values. That's what it always has been and always was supposed to be! I'm only a few thousand words away from the end. Time to dive in!

And I dived.

And someone had drained the pool…

I swear, it felt just like that. I felt just like a nightmare where you run down the diving board, take a big leap, and notice there's no water in the pool.

I could feel my mind crashing into itself.

And that's when the Kens came out. They come out some times. They came out when I was heading for the Grand Canyon. They poked their heads out at the Russian funeral. Now, I was downstairs having a smoke - oh, I ran down there quick! - and they strolled out, cocky.

"Book's always been a love story, ain't it?" one asked.

"Always been! Always been!" ranted another.

"Except when you started," accused the third. "That's when it was supposed to be a philosophical statement. Remember? Remember when you said it was going to propose a social revolution as opposed to Marx's revolution of labor? Where's your revolution now? Eh, smart guy?"

I took a drag. "Well, I can still do it… I just…"

"You can't! You can't!" ranted the ranter.

"Now you're writing a love story," reminded the first.

"The minute you decided to juggle romance and philosophy, you slit your throat. What were you thinking? Both things spring from two different organs!"

"The heart and the mind can be reconciled," I insisted, through a cloud of smoke.

"I was talking about the genitals and the liver," the third replied.

"Liver?"

"Cause philosophers tend to drink!"

"And anyway," the third snapped, snatching up my shirt collar and lifting. "How do you throw an essay into the end of a love story? Huh? How do you?"

"You don't!"

"You don't!"

"You don't!" The other two chanted, circling around.

"I could, um, well, I could…" I didn't even have the cigarette anymore. I was babbling.

"You can't and you know it! Throw an essay at the end of a romance? You think people are going to want to read an essay after that?"

"Actually, it could be a…"

"Call it what you will," said the third.

"A sermon!"

"A rant!"

"A dissertation!"

"You're still stuck with a book that ends pedantically and a story that goes no where because philosophers don't read romance novels and horny women don't read philosophy."

"What about horny men?" asked the second.

"It depends upon the pictures," replied the first.

Every idea I'd had about the book had crumbled. I'd written my way into a brick wall… and had crashed right into it.

Now, I had mental whiplash.

"Buck up, kid," one of the Ken's said, sitting me in a stool by the side of the ring and taking out my mouth guard.

Another gave me a sip of water. "You'll finish it, kid. I know you. You'll finish it."

The third held a bucket. "Spit, nimrod," he told me. I spat. "You just need some time to rest. To reflect. To figure it out. Look, you could surrender to the love story aspect and simply plug the essay into the book - you know, like it was there all along. Or, you could build up the story a little so the essay makes more sense. You'll figure it out."

"Right," I said, hitting my gloves together. "I need to think about this."

"That's right. Take your time."

A bell rang. The first Ken grabbed me and pushed me up. "Now, get back out there again."

Any ideas from anyone out there? Is the essay idea doomed? Should it be worked into the book? Am I missing something?

I'd love to hear your take on it.

Putting it into words...

Every day, I draw nearer to the ending of Vampire Society… and I can't wait.

Vampire Society has an interesting back-story, which some of you may know but I'll tell you anyway. I began Vampire Society in 1999, ages ago. I'd just finished writing the four Rynia fantasy novels and I was looking to return to the more philosophical styles of This Land is My Land and Revelations. It wasn't hard to find material for a book about ethics. All I really had to do was look around me and see the world I was in.

In less than a year, I'd written the first 60,000 words and was caught in a quandary of a book that, while it was about ethics, wanted to be a love story. I wasn't much into writing love stories at the time. After all, my marriage was falling apart. And when the end of my life with Rosa came, I was in even less of a state. So, I put it aside.

It wasn't until this year began that I read it again. Maybe it was the years and maybe it was Vicky that had healed me enough to see what the book was trying to do, and the value of writing a love story about values, but I knew I could pick it up again. And so, I did.

And as I saw the end approaching, I knew I'd have to define the ineffable. I'd have to find a catchphrase for a book that defied explanation. When people ask what a book's about, they don't want to hear, "Well, it's a book about ethics that takes place around these people growing up and…" They want a short description… something memorable…

Today, I found it. I wasn't really looking for it. As happens so often with these things, it came to me without me looking for it.

Mind you, when I mention the end coming, I only refer to the book. The essay at the end will take all summer, I'm sure.

You might have guessed it by now. Now that I know it, I'm littering it about whenever I talk about the book.

Vampire Society is A Love Story About Values.

Of course.

Now to finish it.

An update of sorts…

Well, you're just going to have to forgive me.

You will.

…. Ve haf ar vays….

…. Where was I?

Oh, right. Anyway, my brain's been kind of mushy lately. And, while it tastes just delectable with a sprinkle of sugar, I've had way too much on it to write lately.

First, there's Alacrity. Though he seems to be doing better, things just don't look right - and the vet using the word "mass" didn't exactly put me at ease.

Then, of course, going to the gym at 4:30am isn't exactly inspiring to the "writing sense"… though I've heard scotch works wonders.

Lastly, my life is kind of a mish-mash these days, with no real story to tell.

And, so, this Blog has been going blank.

I do have one story to tell you but I'll warn you that it's not sad and miserable. My readers tend to like me miserable - I'm funnier or something.

I'll keep this short.

I was at the train station the other day, dropping Tim off for his ride home, and I saw this incredibly beautiful woman. The first thing that caught me was her hair. Then, I saw her face as she turned towards me. And then her body. This is why there are paintings, statues, sonnets. She was sent from heaven.

But she wasn't the most wonderful woman I'd ever seen. That came this morning as I started to drive to work. I looked down one of the walkways that cuts between the condos. Again, the first thing I saw was the hair. Then, I saw her face as she turned towards me, coming round the corner, walking her dog. Then, her body. And I knew that this was why love songs were written and achievements won.

Okay, so she wasn't sent from heaven - though she made my heart swell just as if she had been. She'd been sent from Lancaster. She was my Vicky and she didn't know I was watching her for those few seconds. She won't believe me when she reads this but she was quite beautiful this morning, walking her dog in her sweats.

Love ya, Vic.

Okay. Okay. Enough mush! (Want some brain?) I promise to be back soon with complaints galore!