The Horror...

Here's a poem I wrote this morning. I'm not sure where it came from. Can you pick the horror (ish) movie titles out of it?

The Horror

I know what you did last summer, he'll say.
And I'll scream and run to my panic room.
It will be 28 days from hell
And he'll scream, too.
We'll stay up, like night of the living dead,
My jaws tiring from talking it out.
It will be the omen I've been looking for
With the eye that's full of twilight.
And I'll know it's the end of days.

I think there's 12 in there. I don't know why I wrote this...it's so lame.

Out

Pet Peeve of the Day: Redundant and Repetitive...

I was walking back to the water cooler to fill up my cup (duh), and I heard my boss say something to a customer that made me shiver involuntarily:

"VIN number."

And then she said smething else that made my skin crawl:

"PIN number."

Eww. It's a PIN. Personal Identification NUMBER. Vehicle Identification NUMBER.

It's not a Personal Identification Number Number or a Vehicle Identification Number Number.

I know...I know...stupid. It's something everyone says and everyone knows what it means. I'm a stickler. What can I say?

That's why it's a pet peeve.

Out

National Crazy Month...

NaNoWriMo is almost upon us. I am both giddy and terrified. So...you know...nothing special.

For those of you not in-the-know, NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month. Every year I, along with a hundred thousand other crazy nutbars, write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. Want more info? http://www.nanowrimo.org

You'll be glad you did it! I've written three complete novels in three years, and I'm hoping for a fourth.

What kind of novels, you ask?

The first year I wrote a road trip story. DePaul to UCLA loosely along Rt. 66. There was pot smoking, fights, a pregnancy, scorpions vs. cheerleaders, and a man who was not who he said he was...oh, and a house fire.

The second year I wrote a novel of horror and interior decorating. Hauntings, bad smells, a skeptical husband, a cute daughter, and the mystery of that tiny room in the basement...oh, and a house fire.

The third year I wrote a novel about a woman who has an affair with the guy that runs the arcade and her son who is gay and how they both find out what the other is doing. It had Dungeons and Dragons, bigotry, Ms. Pac Man, adultery, laughter, dating, and fake internet personals...oh, and a house fire.

This year will be the first novel that doesn't have a house fire, I think. Although...maybe I'll squeeze one in just for good measure. If I write about the current idea I have, it will be Jesus in space. Trust me. It's a scream!

I look forward to it (and dread it) every year, and this one is no exception. Is anyone with me on that?

Out

Silly Wordplay...

Excuse me for the moment. I was thinking about this during my morning shower, and I thought I needed to share.

Maybe you'll wish I hadn't.

But. In either case, this is best read aloud.

What do you call something that belongs to Johann Sebastian?

Bach's.

So, a container that belongs to J.S. would be?

Bach's box.

And if, somehow, that container was a pugilist?

Bach's boxing box.

Okay. You still with me?

Now. What if that pugilistic container belonging to J.S. had a compulision to burst into song while hammering away at his opponent--what would that be?

Bach's singing, boxing box.

And...if they had an unexpected breakout success of a variety show, what would the headlines read?

Bach's Singing, Boxing Box Sings!

Alright. I'm done now. Thanks for indulging me in my ridiculous English moment.

Out