Reread the Tatooed Potato and Other Clues, which I have not read in nearly 30 years. It holds up.
Lovely. No Westing Game mind you, but still quite lovely.
Who has a kid in SF I can loan this too. Such a wonderful book. It is the reason I first wanted to be come an artist.

(no subject)

Ok, have to get some writing in today, though no idea on what subject.
Think I am going to start working on a novel again. Pulp adventure, but before I do I want to scavenge the tone from some other books. Specifically Bill the Galactic Hero by Harry Harrison, and I'd like to find a good pulp adventure novel, but I have had no luck so far.
Hence my need to write one.
I guess I'll look for a fucking Indiana Jones novel or something, as terrible as it is likely to be. Didn't Farmer write a doc savage novel?
Not really the tone I'm looking for, but better writing I am sure.

(no subject)

Ok, so not doing the best at writing every day, but a few pieces down at least.
I'll to get some more in today.

Went and spent my $40.00 gift certificate at the booksmith this afternoon, before spending $60.00 bucks I can't afford at the game store.
At book smith, for free I got,
3 recent reprints of Ellen Raskin young adult/children's mystery novels.
Figs and Phantoms, which I have never read, The tattoo'd potato and The mysterious disappearance of Leon, I mean Noel.
I also picked up something by John Harrison called Light which is supposed to be quite good, and some frothy Terry Pratchet crap, which I wont like much but will read anyway, because it is super light.

At the game store, for real money, I got 2 card games and a dice game. Gloom, Fluxx and Zombie Dice.

So hopefully fun with those shortly.

(no subject)

I broke the car traveling over the 40 into Nevada.
It snapped somewhere inside like I'd stepped on a soda can.
Snapped and rolled, shot out from under me, spit me right out the window.
I cracked my collar bone and had to walk the last 12 miles, sticking to the bushes. But I made it damnit.

Made it to your birthday party.
I got you something.
The box is a little banged up, girl, but it's ok. I don't think anything broke.
I slid down a ravine coming into Chocktaw, and I might have landed on it a little bit.
It got wet, in the flash flood and I had to make camp in the woods till the storm passed.
Didn't have no umbrella or bags to put it in.

Yeah, it's a little burnt but it's fine. It caught fire a bit when i was drying it out, see a bear mistakenly made his way into my camp and thought he would lay with me like I was his wife.
We had a bit of a tussle and to be completely fair, he got the better end of me in the fight, and in the meantime, amongst all the fuss I didn't see your box had fallen into the fire.
But when the big ol bastard had gone on his merry way, I fished it back out of the fire, hiked down to the interstate and hitched my way here with some awfully nice lady bikers.

Which of course is why I smell the way I do.

But enough about that, you go on and open your present girl.

Ahh see there, it's a dog, a little Labrador puppy just like you asked for.

No he's fine. Tough as nails, tough as your pa.
I love you to little girl, now head on out, your ma and I need to have a talk.


Looks like I forgot to write for almost an entire week.
Ok , here goes.

Fat Andy

Master Andrew was a fat man. He'd been fat most of his life. He'd been little Andy as a child, but only briefly before his uncle named his fat Andy. The appalling appellation stuck. Even in his dowager years, and yes he was a dowager, for as a young boy he had been married off to the Earl of Knightsbridge, and was legally for all intents and purposes from then on a woman, but even in his dowager year, antiquated, set upon by consumption and syphilis, rail thin and transparent like waxed paper, trapped on the third floor of the manor our of fear of falling down the great stairs, even then weighing less than 10 stone, his weight on entering grammar school, he was still to everyone who spoke of him Fat Andy.

Fat Andy, the Odd Widow on the hill. Fat Andy mistress of the manor house. Fat Andy the nursemaid and mother to 7 orphans, from the war. Fat Andy the coward, Fat Andy the courageous, and in the end, when they finally laid him to rest, after the servants had all fled the terrible storm of 1893, and the manor was buried in sleet, when the baying of the horses dying in the stables drove Fat Andy from his bed, his own cries ignored by the servants, long gone for home themselves, driven to despair by the thought of his prized horses dying in the cold, fat Andy, Frail Andy, Old widow boy Andy, made his way to the great staircase of the manor house and half way down them, before his ankle gave and he tumbled and fell, snapping like apple bark as he tumbled down the great stone steps, and lay himself near dead and dying serenaded by the cries of his stable house, and died together that night with all but one of his horses, even then, with the last of his horses pulling the wagon that held his tiny coffin, His Pall Bearers numbering 12 when only two were really needed, his children returned from adventure and exploit around the globe, his servants all in tears, even then, when they laid him to rest, It was Fat Andy, the dead man.

And it was Fat Andy, Son, Wife, Mother of 7, that was chilseled on the tomb stone where he was lain to rest.

candy canes

I made my hat out of candy canes.
Te straight old fashioned kind, not the curvy christmas kind.
I made a fedora out of sugar and strawberry flavoring, (they were strawberry candy canes) and I wore it with my hair tucked in.

I made a bow tie out of fruit tape and a shirt out of circus peanuts. The buttons were made from candy buttons, which were purely ornamental, but I thought they were a nice touch.
I made a vest to wear over it all out of nerds rope and lick'em'aid sticks, which have always been my all time favorite.

My pants were made out of reces pieces and laffy taffy, my belt made of bubbleyum. That's not really candy. It tastes like candy tough and I think that suffices.

For shoes I wore kleenex boxes covered in peanut brittle and almond bark.

I wore no socks that day.

My underthings were normal of course. Old well worn and showing it. But no one would see them so It didn't really matter. I could fudge the rule slightly.

I put on a coat made of butterfinger bites and candy corn and proceeding out into the late afternoon sunshine.

My car was covered in wafflecones and licorice, and I drove towards the mall at a respectable pace.

The short parade would start by Macy's and leave us all in the center of parking lot behind the dairy queen/payless drugs on 75th.

I was terribly pleased with myself, and thought I had done a more than adequate job.
The finishing touches I pulled from my trunk when I parked to get my registration form.
It was an umbrella made of candy glass, festooned with rainbow sprinkles, it's handle filled with orange crush.

This year, I would be prepared.

I took my place in line, behind the giant chicken and in front of the sundae bar, and as the bell rang and we began our trek, the sky turned brown and it began to rain.

I alone was prepared.

(no subject)

It's almost too late now. All the others have gone off to their huts, paired up, singly, in groups. I'm alone here by the fire while the remnants of the witches cat burns, bigger than my house, in the fit pit in the center of our village underneath the brambleberry bush.

Todd made his move on Sarah tonight. She isn't the loveliest. He could have one of the loveliest, but he wants Sarah. I want Sarah, and it's not fair. he was born into everything. He was first born in his fathers hut, he was first choosen for rites of ascension, next likeliest to be the chief, when the old chief goes on his final scavenge. And he flaunts his damn clothes in front of everyone.

And I'm sitting here naked, and jealous of him. Of him. God in heaven, this is sick.
I just want Sarah back. She hasn't talked to me once since she saw me laying with Angela.
I told her I was sorry, I told her it wasn't my fault, that we'd eaten bad logan berries and the lust had come over us.

I told her I would never do it again, but she didn't care. It's not like we were ever really together. Not really, we had just gotten started.
And Tad found her, all pissed and seething, and he showed her his stupid paintings and talked to her all night and who knows what else.
I bet they did it. I bet the laid together, even though he is the chiefs son and never supposed to. Even though she was an orphan and no one else but me would have her.
God it's sick, thinking of them together.
And ther he is sitting next to her, touching her skin with his elbow, rubbing against her "accidentally"

And everyoen keeps asking me whats wrong. I don;t look right, my skin is too yellow, my hair not blue enough, they think i'm sick, that somethings wrong with me. And they are starting to avoid me.

No one understands. It's her. I love HER and that's all I want. God it's make me bleed inside to know that she's going to let him touch her. That he will break his vows with her.
He's probably done it with all the girls in the village.

I hate him.
I hate him so much.
If he wasn't the chiefs son I'd stab im in the neck when he was hunting and leave him there for the ants to take.

God why is this happeneing to me.
I don't want to be alone. I just want Sarah back. I'll do anything, i'll be a better person. I promise not to break my vow ever again, and never lay with another girl beside her. Just please give her back.
Or I swear to god, I'll kill them both.

Iv'e thought about it a lot. Too much. I need to let this go. But god in heaven, she's so beautiful, and she was mine damnit. Not yours, you have everything else. She is supposed to be mine.

My skin is turning blue in the fire. Thank god it's dark. Everyone would know what I am thinking. They could see it on my face and arms and would drive me out.
I'll start wearing clothes too. That will show him. No one will know what I think then.
God I'm drunk.
I really need to go to sleep, but I can see her with him, across the fire, and it hurts so much inside.

I need to clear my head. Not think about this. And I'm too drunk. I wonder if Linda has found a man yet. She'll break her vow with me. That's something. At least I won't have to think about Sarah. GOd I don't want to think about Sarah.

Shit, I spilled my wine. Oh crap, Sarah. Don't come over here, Don't!
Shit shit shit.

"No, I'm fine."
"Yeah, I'm sure,... gonna go see what Linda's doing."
"No sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
"Ok yeah, see you in the morning"

I'm such an idiot.
Look at his smug ass.
I'm gonna kill him I swear.

I need some more wine.

(no subject)

She was still wearing her pajamas. They had pictures of the little blue bears from the Orion zoo, which is where she bought them. Pajamas, pink with little blue bears, heavy lather work books, goggles and driving gloves, and laughed at herself until she realized she hadn't grabbed anything else to change into when she got to the base.
Her rocket sled skimmed over the pale blue grey sand of the Johnsonville dessert, carving deep grooves in the skin of the countryside.

Shit, no clothes, No wallet, no radio link. She'd run out the the bedroom and into the launch so quickly she had forgotten to bring any of her secondary necessities with her.
She had her research, her rebreather and the clothes on her back. And she had only hours to get to Central station if she was going to catch Kacin before he made his connection and was off to the far end of the solar system.

She hadn't seen kacin since the week after graduation. He'd gone on to work with the department of defense before leaving to work in the information networks. He was programming commercial channels now, but he would still no someone in whitehall who could get her information out.

God, she wanted so desperately to leave the ass forsaken planet and get back to somewhere green, where it rained. And she wanted a dog. Or maybe a rabbit. Something furry with a tongue and ears and filled with soft affection and physical warmth. All she had here on Jonsonville were the weird rock lizards and her lab rats.

She never liked rats. And this was taking too long. Kacin would be gone by the time she got to the station. Shit. She could cheat off of the mainline and try and shortcut through to the iron flats. They shouldn't be mining this late in the year. It really shouldn't be dangerous, and the worst that could happen would be she'd get a ticket the next time the mail came around in the spring.

Fuck it. She took the hard turn into the iron flats. Even if they were mining, she really didn't have a choice. Time wasn't on her side. And god, she was going to look like a freaking idiot when she found him, assuming she found him.
She would have to hope that there was still some spark there. he'd wanted to date her for the last couple of years at college. Jesus she looked like hell, her skin was burnt, her hair was nuts right now, and she was showing up in her bedclothes. She felt like an idiot.

But she didn't really have a choice.


There was a man in the moon.
We couldn't see him from earth, as his face rarely looked down upon the planet, preferring instead to gaze into the bright emptiness of the rest of the solar system.

When we got to the moon we found he had long since died, and we built our first colony in the folds beneath his eyes and revived the industries of the earth mining into the core of him, taking his brain and his thoughts and feelings and turning them into fuel for our cars and television shows.

We mourned his passing in the way you mourn the loss of a great author who died before you were born. We lived quite happily on the corpse of his face. Until he woke up. And the war started, between the earth and the moon.

We nearly lost but someone had the idea to wake the earth and enlist her to our cause.
This was our greatest hubris, for when she woke she devoured the solar system and with her young son the moon set of for new vistas in distant galaxies leaving us all to choke and freeze on her skin.

We moved underground and adapted. We would have our planet back in the long run, one way or another.