First off, a moment of silence for the man in pink. After 4 consecutive French Open titles, Rafa was ousted by some Swedish dude. Sis-in-law E surmises he was blinded by his own hot pink shirt, and I tend to agree.
The French crowd didn't help either. They never liked Rafa. Suddenly I'm thinking war with France doesn't sound so bad. Goodbye Mocha Honey. See you at Wimbledon.
Cormac McCarthy VOCABULARY WORD OF THE DAY:
"ISOCLINE"
def: a fold of strata so tightly compressed that both limbs dip in the same direction.
How does Cormac use such a word? "At the tide line a woven mat of weeds and the ribs of fishes in their millions stretching along the shore as far as eye could see like an isocline of death."pic: I know what the "fractal of doom" is, but in my high school calculus class, Mrs. Keir never covered the "isocline of death". I was robbed. If she had, I probably wouldn't have dropped out.
I jest.
How Brodi would have said the same thing: "A bunch of dead fish lay scattered on the shore." (And I only would have said that after hours of figuring out if it's lay, lied, laid, or lay). NOTHING AGAINST COPS, BUT SOMETIMES I CAN'T STAND COPS
Someday I'll delve into the specifics about my history with cops, but for now, the latest chapter.
I don't speed. I stay within 5 miles over the speed limit, much to the annoyance of my sister, Erin Gonzalez.
Years ago, I used to speed. But then when I was reporting on a wildfire in Idaho, I passed a competing news van, in a no pass zone, going ten over the speed limit. There may have been a middle finger involved. There definitely was a cop behind me. So, yeah, it was humiliating enough to make me stop speeding. So the other day, I'm driving up Lincoln Lane, and there's a cop standing in a church parking lot, gunning people. (To be clear, radar gunning. Otherwise, this is a very different story.)
As I approach, he points his finger and motions me to the side of the road.
cop: "Excuse me, ma'am, but you need to slow down. This is a 25 mile per hour zone."
me: "How fast was I going?"
cop: "About 30."
I must interject here. Although, is it really interjecting if I'm only interrupting myself?
Anyway, for someone (like me) who really likes the mantra: "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is like the difference between the lightning and a lightning bug," I couldn't really get past the whole "about thirty" thing. (Mark Twain quote, btw)
continuing on...
me: "About 30? So, not actually 30, right? Maybe more like 28?"
cop (not humored): "It's a 25 mile per hour zone."
me: "Yeah, but isn't that like saying it's "about a 30 mile per hour zone". " (Inside the car, I'm driving my pen into my thigh in an attempt to force my mouth shut.)
cop: "Just slow down, please."
me: "yessir... [trying not to say anything else, biting my cheek, drawing blood, really trying not to say anything else, and failing]... but you get the distinction, right?"
cop: "Do you want a ticket?"
me: "No thanks. I'll go slower."
He let me off the hook, and I learned a valuable lesson. No more going about 30 (so, really, 28). Instead I'll go about 25. (really, 27). That'll show him... mwah hah hah.
Sadly, this would not have been the first time I talked a cop into giving me a ticket. I'll give you the details some other time, but for now I'll just say $145 for jaywalking in an alley is a little steep, even for the "blond lady with the sharp tongue and threatening behavior."
How you can tell when people have too much time on their hands: When we were at King's English the other night, my friend Emily Wing Smith received one of the funniest parking complaints I've ever seen, and she tells the story here. Check it out if you want a laugh. (And if you happen to be the person who wrote it, my apologies.)
Who says men can't look good in hot pink? Well, I do for one. In fact, the "No Hot Pink on Sam" rule was written into our marriage contract. So Rafa's latest ensemble in the French Open proves he is not just an ordinary man. Also, I just finished reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Wow.
It's about a father and a son who are stranded in the burned out shell of what was once Earth, struggling to survive. (After an un-named apocalyptic event.) It was gripping, disturbing and tender, so, yeah, I loved it.
My biggest problem with the book was that the event was never explained, and my obsessive little brain couldn't handle it. My mind would start wandering, trying to account for why everything in their world is on fire, and three pages would go by.
Therein lies the rub. Cormac McCarthy uses words I've never heard of, and he uses them a lot. So a mere glance of the sentences would not dump any actual information in my brain. McCarthy has an insane mastery of the English language.
For instance: “He rose and stood tottering in that cold autistic dark with his arms outheld for balance while the vestibular calculations in his skull cranked out their reckonings.”
I had to read the darn sentence like three times before I finally figured out what the heck he was talking about. Apparently only brilliant people get stranded in the post-apocalyptic world.
Maybe I'm just jealous, because I would have written the above sentence like this: “He stood up and looked around.”
And if my book had young gay lovers in it, I would have said "young gay lovers". I wouldn't have thought there was a specific word for it. Catamites. There's your vocabulary word for the day. Try using it in a sentence.
That's why Cormac McCarthy has Nobel prizes and stuff. He knows those words exist. And he would never use the word "stuff".
The Road is going to be a movie in October. Here's the trailer.
BOOK CONTESTS GALORE First off, want a free book? My agent sister Bree is eight months away from her debut book's publication. (The Dark Divine. Awesome YA read.) To celebrate, she is giving away a bunch of books every month until her debut book hits stands. So check out her blog for details. Tell her I sent you, and you'll receive five dollars off. (Just kidding. Her blog is free.)
BRODI HEARTS BLOGGING It feels like it's been forever and I have to admit I missed blogging on Monday.
Missed it so much that I sat at my computer on Tuesday and wrote about 83 blogs, but I couldn't post them because it wasn't Wednesday, and I blog on Wednesdays. Darn those "Governing Laws of the Blogosphere".
Instead, I had to print them out and burn them in my fireplace, all the while singing Amazing Grace. (In accordance with bylaw 10.2. I'm not actually sure where I got these rules in the first place. But who am I to argue?)
How was your holiday?I spent my weekend doing two very important thingies.
Thingie 1. Catching up on my trashy mags. And that means, it's Trashy Mag time!
I started with Us Weekly, and made some monumental discoveries.For instance, did you know Bono and I are exactly the same? Exactly the same.
US has this "hard news" section called: Stars- They're Just Like US!It turns out, after several weeks of investigative journalism, Us Weekly uncovered the truth about Bono: He towels off his children.WTH? He is just like me! Why are Bono and I not BFF's already? He really is the rock star next door.
Shortly after the article hit stands, Bono discovered that I, too, towel off my children. His people contacted my people to set a lunch date, because people with such rare similarities simply must become lifelong friends.
Next, I turned to OK! magazine; also known as that mag across the pond. The cover had a giant picture of Edward, flanked by two extras, a couple of other nobodies, and a bunch of random words, none of which made sense. Despite the promises, the article on Edward revealed no love, lust or lies. Disappointing. Plus, they kept calling him "Rob".
Also, Neighbor "K" brought me over a couple of magazines featuring Rafael Nadal. I have no idea why he thought I would find them interesting, except maybe he read between the lines of this post, this post, this post and this post. Wow. That is just plain sad. So let's add to the list of Rafa posts until it shifts from sad to pathetic. (Don't you dare say "too late".) 2. The second thing I did all weekend, I hesitate to share with y'all. Now, you probably have noticed I don't mind looking like a total dork on my blog. In fact, it's sort of my raison d'etre. (Reason for blogging.) But this particular weekend project highlights two of my lamer qualities:
a. The ability to waste astronomical time doing something totally useless. b. The ability to find something extraordinarily funny, yet at the same time knowing no one else will.
The mission? Create a trailer for my book Echo... using cartoon Lego characters... with robotic voices.
I got the idea from agent Kristin Nelson's blog, but I can't provide the link because there is a questionable word in it, and I cater to the younger crowd as well as the older crowd.
So, here is the rotten fruit of my colossal waste of labor.. Just so you know, my main character is a 17-year old girl named Lane, who suffers from paranoid delusions. (I mean, of course she does. She's in my book, so she'd have to be somewhat messed up in the head.)
That's not to say she chose to be in my book. She is fictional. Oh crap. It's past midnight. I'm not making sense anymore, am I? I can't believe I felt the need to clarify that the main character of my novel is fictional.
The other day, my brother-in-law picked me up a Star Trek glass from Burger King. I don't really think he considered the ramifications of such an action.
At Sunday dinner, sis-in-law E started shouting the names of the Star Trek shows, and all their incarnations, to prove she deserved the glass.
Other sis-in-law E started planning trips to Burger Kings across the valley, saying I didn't deserve the glass, and to accept such a gift would be admitting I was a Trekkie.
I finally concluded we were all losers. THING ABOUT ME #13
Wait, are we on 13 or 14?
Okay, thing about me number 15, continuing the longest 25 thingies about me tag.
15. I don't know if there's a word for it. What do you call someone who sees a toddler in the middle of the street, no adult around, and thinks everything's probably fine with that picture. Because if there was a problem, someone somewhere would surely grab the toddler out of harm's way. I'm hungry. What's for lunch? Why does my ear itch?
That's the affliction I have.
So the other day I was helping my sister move. Just me and her. We were in the middle of packing the moving truck when she had to leave suddenly to go to her new house and pay the blind guy. (Guy who installs blinds. Not sight-challenged guy.)
My sister leaves, and I'm in the front yard alone.
Her next door neighbor comes over, says hi to me, how's it goin', that sort of stuff.
Then she goes inside the house to find my sister.
And I just watch her go inside. She's calling to my sister. Wandering about, looking for her.
And I go back to packing.
After a while, the neighbor comes out. She says, "Do you know where Erin is?"
me: "Um, yeah. She's not here. She left a little while ago."
She looks at me for a moment. It finally hits me.
me: "Which, I guess I should have mentioned before you went wandering through the house, calling for her."
I have a friend -- Friend A , a.k.a. Aunt S -- who laughs about this sort of attribute of mine. She discovered it when she said to me one day, "I'm so glad we were able to get over that whole Eden fiasco."
me: "Um, what Eden fiasco?"
A: "You know, when we had that disastrous weekend with our two families in Eden, and you left in a huff because you were all mad about something?"
me: "I remember the weekend, but I had fun."
A: "No, you didn't. I only saw the exhaust pipe as you and Sam peeled out of the parking lot."
me: "That's not how I remember it..."
A: "Then how do you account for the fact that we didn't speak to each other for over four months?"
me (shocked): "We didn't speak for four months?"
A: "Even my husband [who is arguably the nicest man on the face of the planet] said you must have hated me."
me: "Wow. I'm sorry."
A: "Why are you sorry? You didn't even know we were in a fight."
me: "Um, so are we done fighting now?"
A: "Yes."
me: "Good. I'm glad we resolved the issue."
I wish this was just an isolated incident, but it's not. Friend R says I'm like a man in this respect. I didn't really take it as a compliment.
So, what is the word for it? Inattentive? Clueless? Male?
Please, if any of you reading this are in a fight with me, leave a comment. Let me know the situation, and if I need to apologize.
And if we are not on speaking terms, then the comments section is the perfect place to start the healing process. But first, let me know we are not speaking.
Have a great Memorial Day Weekend. Are you going anywhere? I'm helping my sister lay sod and then I may see this cool new movie. See y'all Wednesday.
There seem to be two camps of people: 1. Those who think I should have noticed the $282 total charge for one book. 2. Those who think Sam shouldn't have left the stupid doorknobs in his virtual basket in the first place.
So, which camp are you? You can tell me. I won't hold it against you. It's not like I know where you live. Or do I?
Sam is much more magnanimous than I am. What he calls my "adventurous spirit", I refer to as "attention deficit disorder."
He'll often say to me, "Honey, if I die first, I just want you to be happy. If you find someone who makes you happy, get married."
me: "Thank you. And if I die first..."
sam: "Yes?"
me: "I want you to follow soon after."
sam: "But what about the kids?"
me: "If they're over 18, with good prospects, then follow me."
sam: "What if they're still little?"
me: "Stay and raise them until they are viable. Then hit the gas pedal and head for a cliff."
sam: "Wouldn't you want them to have a mom?"
me: "Nope. They've got my mom, your mom, and my sister. That's enough mom for anyone. And trust me, if you feel tempted to find someone else, I shall haunt her all of her living days."
sam: "You don't believe in ghosts."
me: "I'll find a way."
So, yeah, there is a total double standard. And you ladies who were waiting for your chance with Sam? Consider this a threat.
THE MOCHA HONEY
Speaking of double standards, my lovuhh Rafa will be playing in the French Open starting next week. (It's a double standard because Sam would never be allowed to call someone his "lovuhh". Except Rebecca DeMornay. He's always had a thing for her, and I don't really mind because she's not so much this... she's more this... And that's not to say she's not beautiful or anything, because I'd give up a lot to look as good as she does, but still... Sam is welcome to date her. Magnanimous, right?) Anyway, back to Rafa. The French Open is played on clay courts, and Rafa was born on a clay court. (I think that's actually true.) So tune in when you get a chance.
LOST SEASON FINALE
Holy Brain-blower Batman. Does anyone else feel like the creators of Lost have crossed the streams, causing total protonic reversal? (Can anyone name the movie?) I won't ruin anything for those of you who haven't seen the finale, but I will say I bet you a meeelion dollars the writers are just as confused as we are. Only they've taken it so far, there's no way we can prove it.
Oh, and detonating a hydrogen bomb should never be a "go-to" plan of action. Just as a general rule. CAFFEINE UPDATE So, the key to quitting caffeine is not blogging about it. I haven't quit cold turkey, but I've significantly reduced my caffeine footprint.
The problem is, last night when I had my first Diet Coke in a long time, I went crazy. Like, in the literal sense. I started accusing Sam of "conspiring" against me. Who says stuff like that?
But I was so enthralled with the word "conspiring", I couldn't stop myself. Normally, I would never act like that, so I can only assume it has something to do with caffeine. Perhaps I shouldn't have quit?
Good Monday morning. Hope y'all had a great weekend. Today, I am honored with a special guest star. Okay, it's just hubby Sam. I stole the idea from my agent sister Bree.
I told Sam he could write whatever he wanted about living with a deranged writer, and I would publish it without reading it first. (Which, ironically, is what I'm hoping an editor does with my book. Karma baby.)
This is very scary for me.
So, whatever he writes, here are my five responses I would like you to keep in mind. 1. It's not my fault. 2. He knew what he was getting into when we got married. 3. I am right 95% of the time. 4. What does he expect when I hardly ever sleep? 5. I never said I could cook.
Plug them in as needed.Okay, here we go.
From Sam: Living with Brodi is like living with sunlight reflecting off a pool of water. You can cut the calm with a knife...
Okay, okay. That was really me (Brodi).
Here's Sam's real stuff. Today is your lucky day. You get to hear from the beautiful and talented husband of Brodi...wait, you get to hear from the husband of the beautiful and talented Brodi.
Brodi asked if I ever wanted to write on her blog. I happily agreed. I know that a lot of people are reading her blog and I wanted to give you a little background on the person behind the pen, err, typewriter, err, computer.
For those that know Brodi really well, you know she is not afraid to try something new and different. Pakistan? Sure, pack the bags. Since we have been married, she has done the following for work:
Anchor/Reporter/Weather Bunny for the NBC affiliate up in Idaho Falls-Jackson Hole-Pocatello: I was her cameraman. I was also known as Mr. or Brother Ashton my entire time up in Idaho.
Morning Producer for ABC Chanel 4 in Salt Lake City--at the time, the youngest producer in SLC by about10 years. She would leave for work at 11pm and get home at 9am. I would then leave around 9am to go to work. I took a full length pic of me, blew it up and placed it in our kitchen so she would remember what I looked like. She had to leave the job when she ended up getting pneumonia for like 2 months.
PR and Marketing for IHC: Because she worked, she inadvertently got a co-worker fired. Seriously.
She got accepted into Medical School...and turned it down: How many people can say that they turned down medical school? She decided to go to London with me and get a masters degree.
Masters Degree in International Relations from the London School of Economics
Writer: She had always thought about doing this but finally decided to go for it.
The reason that I bring this up is that writing has been different for her. She has loved it and she is very good at. Her days in the news helped her learn to write fast and well. GET A CALENDAR ALREADY... But I will say that this process has made her a bit scatterbrained. To say the least. Over the past year, she has completely forgotten wedding showers, baby showers and birthdays among other things. Totally forgotten these things until a day or five days later. And just as a reminder to her--our anniversary is on JUNE 25th!!!
WERE WE JUST TALKING? If it is a stressful time during revisions, then it becomes entertaining as I will have a complete conversation with her only to realize that I have been talking to myself for the past 5 minutes with Brodi gazing out of the window. She is nice though as she asks me for the cliffs notes version of the conversation we just had. As I start to give the cliffs notes version, she tunes out again...so I stop and call my neighbors and have that conversation with them.
THE MOST EXPENSIVE BOOK GIVE-AWAY EVER... Another example? About a week ago, I was looking on Amazon.com for some new door locks. I found 2 of them that both looked good and I put them in my cart to think about (same locks but different metals used so I was trying to decide if I wanted one of them or neither of them). Then a couple of days later, Brodi had a book giveaway on her blog and she ended up sending off a book to a reader. This very nice reader received the book and let Brodi know that she received it, along with 2 door locks. Yes, the 2 door locks that I had not purchased.
Item(s) Subtotal:
$281.92
Shipping & Handling:
$0.00
-----
Total Before Tax:
$281.92
Estimated Tax:
$0.00
-----
Grand Total:
$281.92
HOW DO YOU NOT NOTICE THE PRICE? You see, when your brain is on overload and you aren't thinking straight, you go to Amazon, order the book, see it in the cart (along with 2 door locks) and decide to ignore it when Amazon.com says that it will charge your credit card: $281.92. You read that correct. This smart beautiful woman ordered a book and decided to click 'Accept Purchase' even after seeing $281.92as the charge. I am not sure what went thru her mind when she saw that--'hmmm, over $200 for that book, well, it is a good book and my dear reader deserves it.' Now, if her own book was not on her mind, she probably would have noticed it...but with it on her mind, we bought this sweet reader $281.92 worth of door locks and a book.
I will say that I have loved having a wife who is a writer. I can handle the time that she spends away working on her book or her latest revisions (days at the bookstore, nights at Little America, Midway, etc.) because I can see how much she loves it even when it makes her nuts.
I also know how good of a writer she is. I know how good of a book she has written. I can't wait to see the future of what she does and I am so happy that she has found a 'job' that she loves even if it makes her crazy (and often me crazy by her craziness).
Ever have one of those days when you are pretty sure your life is some sort of cosmic joke?
So, I'm in my bathroom yesterday, blow-drying my hair and eating cinnamon bears. (Everyone does that, right?)
I flip my hair forward, so I can dry the under parts, but the forward momentum causes the cinnamon juices in my mouth to go shooting up my nasal tube thingies (you know where your nose meets your throat) and right into my sinuses.
The pain, I assure you, was acute.
I started wandering about, flapping my hands and whimpering, trying to figure out how the heck to stop the burning.
I ran over to the sink, cupped my hand and tried to snort some water. But apparently, even in an emergency, my body rebels against voluntarily snorting any sort of liquid.
By now I could picture the acid cinnamon juices disintegrating my brain. The sizzle was nearly audible.
Finally, I sucked up a mouthful of water, flipped my hair forward and let the water follow the same path.
This worked.
Moral of the story: Never blow-dry your hair. Just eat cinnamon bears while sedentary. Dangerous stuff.
Any fun plans for the weekend? My sister is laying sod, so I "plan" to be conveniently out of town.
Since it's Friday, how about a fun video? Star Wars, as if it were a Macgyver television series.
(Courtesy of Sam. He's the one who wastes countless hours searching through really lame videos until he finds one little golden nugget, which his wife immediately steals.)
Goodbye Mocha Honey. See you at Wimbledon.
I know what the "fractal of doom" is, but in my high school calculus class, Mrs. Keir never covered the "isocline of death". I was robbed. If she had, I probably wouldn't have dropped out.
So the other day, I'm driving up Lincoln Lane, and there's a cop standing in a church parking lot, gunning people. (To be clear, radar gunning. Otherwise, this is a very different story.)
