Coming in loud and clear

First things first: After my wife's uncle cremation ceremony, we did head back to a barbecue. However, it wasn't the traditional "let's-throw-meat-on-an-old-flame-and-coat-it-with-some-thick-brown-goop" barbecue. Instead, my wife's late uncle was a fan of Hawaiian cooking, which (from what I saw Saturday) consists of a lot of different meats with only a few barbecued, and that meat was oven-cooked with the sauce on it. I know Hawaiians cook meat over open flame (I mean, I did see that one "Brady Bunch" when the Brady clan went to Hawaii...you know, the one with the cursed Tiki necklace...shit, I can remember that but I can't remember French), but there wasn't a traditional barbecue after the cremation service. It sounded like there would be, much to my shock, but it was a tasteful affair, filled with family coming together to remember and to reassure each other that the departed has moved to a better place. Plus, it inspired a couple budding fiction pieces I'll be posting here soon.

Second, I had a real shit day today at work. I fucking hate it when after a nice weekend I come back into work only to find out how much I fucked up. A couple entries I put in were wrong, and I had to hear about it six different ways. I want to put on my voice mail "Hello. If you are calling to complain, please know I have a persecution complex already. Choose your words with care. Thank you."

Plus, it dawned on me that was I getting sloppy on one of my projects, which just sends me into an emotional Dumpster. I beat myself up a lot and with great skill, so instead of just bucking up and doing what should be done, I sit and fester in my own self-loathing juices (which I recommend as the perfect glaze for your next barbecue). And sitting and festering only makes me feel worse and I end up pissing away the morning trying to get my head straight.

And then. Argh! I have a side project in an embryonic stage. I have this idea for an online comic (quite funny, since I can't draw and have the coloring skills of a four-year-old hopped up on sugar) about a lesbian superhero. While lesbian superheroes aren't all that unique in this day and age, I still think I have a clever story in the making. I've been researching a bunch of subjects in my off-hours to build material and I've been pounding out some dialogue snatches here and there.

So, I feel good about this until my lesbian co-worker, of all people, comes up with this idea for a lesbian crime fighter "Ratgirl," where the heroine gets bitten by a rat (naturally) and develops rat-specific powers. She had no idea about just what powers rats had, and stupid me, I go ahead and draft up some nifty ideas for her.

Now, granted, my lesbian superhero is way different than hers, but I guess I just felt an irrational shot of fear sail across my bow and panicked myself into thinking that here I was about to lose another great idea. So, just as I was about to pull myself out of my morning funk, here comes by bright-eyes co-worker with her idea, making me think, "please let me know ahead of time if you about to take my idea, so I can pencil in a suicide for the afternoon."

But, looking back on it, I know I have nothing to worry about. Oddly, to console myself I spent the afternoon scrolling through lesbian superhero Web sites to see if anyone used my idea yet. I found a couple cosmetic close calls, but nothing requiring me to abandon ship.

She sings to me

Found out singer Shirley Manson has written a b-side song for her band Garbage called "April the Tenth." She describes it as "basically spoken word over a lush electronic landscape." April 10 is my birthday and spoken word/electronica just rocks for me.

That cheered my behind right up. No suicide today.

Creepy

Do you prefer death by water or by air?

Jesus wore Nikes

God doesn't love you unless you have a T-shirt saying so.


French Word of the Day

faute de mieux (foht duh myuh): for want of something better

Alpha-Release Fiction Snip of the Day


Raylene laid flat, stock still in the dirt, playing with plastic shreds and the rare leaf, crumbling them all between her fingers to draw the blond Siamese kitten closer. It was an exercise in patience, but where else did she have to go.

The kitten watched Raylene's fingers swerve and twist the indestructible plastic pieces, strips from old coffee lids. For it, the flipping, dancing white strips were magical and hypnotic, drawing the kitten closer. It would take one tiny step forward, and then plop its tiny bottom down, wrapping it's tiny legs around scrawny legs.

For Raylene and the kitten, the world shrunk to become just the both of them. An hour passed and afoul wind blew in a toxic burning cloud from the fires out from the Mt. Rainier forest fire. Raylene brushed the stinging raindrops from her face and lifted a patch of plastic blue tarp to shield her exposed head and the kitten. The kitten, all wide-eyed and patched dirty fur, looked up at the sudden shelter. It didn't back anyway; instead it stepped forward and pounced lightly at Raylene's fingers.

Carefully, as the kitten was distracted with the twirling strips, Raylene stroked the kitten, giving her a bit of beefstick she had tucked away. A bad parental decision, she thought, not exactly the healthiest thing to feed a growing cat, but she had little else in her pack.

Above them, gray rain fell, making the dirt a series of sickly silver puddles. By now, anyone on in the periphery who could get under shelter did. Raylene pulled the tarp over them now, her head making the center pole for a crude tent. She cradled the tiny beast, which started to sniff her in great wonderment. It stopped and played with the plastic shreds with a soft, curious batting. It mewed once. The prey was properly dead.

Raylene silently wondered about the rest of the kitten's family, if the mother would miss her, if the mother was still alive. For a second, she began to cry, dripping tears on the kitten, who squirms into Raylene's patched denim coat, exploring a dark fold before becoming warm and safely nesting in a pocket against Raylene's beating heart, which broke just a little more when the purring started.

She named her Golden for her golden fur and eyes.