K.S. Brooks's Blog
August 3, 2013
Mr. Pish Goes to the Farm Sale!
Mr. Pish Goes to the Farm
is featured today on Kindle Books & Tips!
Mr. Pish Goes to the Farm , by K.S. Brooks, is regularly $2.99 but has been discounted 67% to just $0.99 today in the Amazon Kindle store, and this book has received an average user rating of 5 out of 5 stars based on 29 customer reviews.
See the post here: http://www.fkbooksandtips.com/2013/08...
Or go directly to the book on Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/Mr-Pish-Goes-Fa...
Save $2.00 today only!
Mr. Pish Goes to the Farm , by K.S. Brooks, is regularly $2.99 but has been discounted 67% to just $0.99 today in the Amazon Kindle store, and this book has received an average user rating of 5 out of 5 stars based on 29 customer reviews.
See the post here: http://www.fkbooksandtips.com/2013/08...
Or go directly to the book on Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/Mr-Pish-Goes-Fa...
Save $2.00 today only!
November 5, 2011
Facebook Fan Page URL - Customize!
Note: This is one of the most common "mistakes" I see with people's facebook "fan" pages.
Is a Facebook author page a necessity? I can't answer that. But if you have one, make sure once you have 25 followers you change your URL. Let's say you're Judy, and your author page URL looks like this:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Judy-th...
Well, once you have 25 fans or "likes", you can change that URL. I get asked about this a LOT. So, here are the instructions:
On your author page, go to Edit Page in the top right hand corner. That will take you to the "manage permissions" screen. Go to the left menu bar and click on "basic information." You should see "User Name" near the top of the page in the middle. Then Facebook will walk you through it from there. Then you can have a nice, clean URL like http://www.facebook.com/AuthorJudy.
Make sure you're happy with it the way it is, because you can't change it! And, make sure you're happy with the Name on your page, because once you hit 100 fans, you can't change that either.
Feel free to check out my author page at http://www.facebook.com/KSBrooksAuthor.
Is a Facebook author page a necessity? I can't answer that. But if you have one, make sure once you have 25 followers you change your URL. Let's say you're Judy, and your author page URL looks like this:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Judy-th...
Well, once you have 25 fans or "likes", you can change that URL. I get asked about this a LOT. So, here are the instructions:
On your author page, go to Edit Page in the top right hand corner. That will take you to the "manage permissions" screen. Go to the left menu bar and click on "basic information." You should see "User Name" near the top of the page in the middle. Then Facebook will walk you through it from there. Then you can have a nice, clean URL like http://www.facebook.com/AuthorJudy.
Make sure you're happy with it the way it is, because you can't change it! And, make sure you're happy with the Name on your page, because once you hit 100 fans, you can't change that either.
Feel free to check out my author page at http://www.facebook.com/KSBrooksAuthor.
October 30, 2011
The American Robin: Hatched from Evil
Everyone loves robins. They symbolize the first sign of Spring. People delight over their teal colored eggs. And there is always excitement when their young start peeping in the nest.
Not me. I loathe them. Even the scientific name for the American Robin is heinous: Turdus migratorius. Let me translate that for you – it means they crap everywhere.
And everywhere is the key. In 1996 I traveled all the way to Alaska to photograph Grizzly Bears and Orcas (killer whales). After two long days on the water, I docked at the port of Valdez without seeing an Orca. The disappointment was staggering. When I arrived at the bed and breakfast, there was a large bird to the left of the driveway. It was too far away for me to ascertain its species. My heart jumped with the great anticipation of identifying my first sub-arctic land bird. I whipped out my 300 mm lens and clicked off four photos. As I did not want to frighten away this mystery bird, I crept in a couple of feet and shot some more. A few more steps, a few more frames, and before you know it I had rifled off nearly an entire roll of film. Finally, I was close enough to get a good look at this bird: it was a @#^&* robin! I had traveled all the way to the other end of the United States of America to see a robin? After wasting a roll of film on this common bird, I was steamed. And no, I never saw a Grizzly, either.
Five years later, on another photographic expedition in the mountains of British Columbia, they struck again. Robins…so profuse they seemed like a noxious weed. The theme to the Sopranos by Alabama 3 came on. I changed the words to “Woke up this morning, got myself a gun; shot up some robins, every single one…”
I have noticed since then that they are everywhere. No matter how remote the location, you will find a robin there. A logical explanation had to exist for this infestation of the turd bird. I was determined to find it.
Sure enough, after years of research through cobweb-laden archives of secret knowledge, I discovered the little-known origin of the robin. Way back in medieval times, robins hailed from a small country in Slavic Europe called Robinnia, quietly nestled between Transylvania and Viagravia. Obviously, the former lent its evil from Vlad the Impaler, and the latter provided the foundation for the robin’s ability to breed incessantly. After years of overcrowding in their homeland, the robins decided to branch out and infiltrate every nation on the planet. They traveled on ships, trains, cattle barges and any other method they could hijack to assist them in their endeavor to eventually be absolutely everywhere. Give them time and they will be on the International Space Station…if they’re not already.
People look on joyfully as robins carry worms and twigs back to their nests. But it is the cargo you don’t see that should worry you. Have you lost your iPod or Blackberry? Check the nearest nest; robins need computers. It’s not your neighbor pirating your internet; robins around the world are networking, plotting hostile takeovers, Ponzi schemes and insider trading. Robins are thick into big business. Look at how that bird made me waste that film in Alaska…I had to purchase more because of it – at Wal-Mart. Yes, that seems insignificant as a singular episode, but look at the bigger picture. They are devious. What do you have to buy because of the robins in your neighborhood? Think about it. I guarantee there will be something, whether it be an obvious item like a bird bath or a seemingly unrelated purchase like another Blackberry. Don’t let that orange chest and yellow beak fool you…your day will come.
Not me. I loathe them. Even the scientific name for the American Robin is heinous: Turdus migratorius. Let me translate that for you – it means they crap everywhere.
And everywhere is the key. In 1996 I traveled all the way to Alaska to photograph Grizzly Bears and Orcas (killer whales). After two long days on the water, I docked at the port of Valdez without seeing an Orca. The disappointment was staggering. When I arrived at the bed and breakfast, there was a large bird to the left of the driveway. It was too far away for me to ascertain its species. My heart jumped with the great anticipation of identifying my first sub-arctic land bird. I whipped out my 300 mm lens and clicked off four photos. As I did not want to frighten away this mystery bird, I crept in a couple of feet and shot some more. A few more steps, a few more frames, and before you know it I had rifled off nearly an entire roll of film. Finally, I was close enough to get a good look at this bird: it was a @#^&* robin! I had traveled all the way to the other end of the United States of America to see a robin? After wasting a roll of film on this common bird, I was steamed. And no, I never saw a Grizzly, either.
Five years later, on another photographic expedition in the mountains of British Columbia, they struck again. Robins…so profuse they seemed like a noxious weed. The theme to the Sopranos by Alabama 3 came on. I changed the words to “Woke up this morning, got myself a gun; shot up some robins, every single one…”
I have noticed since then that they are everywhere. No matter how remote the location, you will find a robin there. A logical explanation had to exist for this infestation of the turd bird. I was determined to find it.
Sure enough, after years of research through cobweb-laden archives of secret knowledge, I discovered the little-known origin of the robin. Way back in medieval times, robins hailed from a small country in Slavic Europe called Robinnia, quietly nestled between Transylvania and Viagravia. Obviously, the former lent its evil from Vlad the Impaler, and the latter provided the foundation for the robin’s ability to breed incessantly. After years of overcrowding in their homeland, the robins decided to branch out and infiltrate every nation on the planet. They traveled on ships, trains, cattle barges and any other method they could hijack to assist them in their endeavor to eventually be absolutely everywhere. Give them time and they will be on the International Space Station…if they’re not already.
People look on joyfully as robins carry worms and twigs back to their nests. But it is the cargo you don’t see that should worry you. Have you lost your iPod or Blackberry? Check the nearest nest; robins need computers. It’s not your neighbor pirating your internet; robins around the world are networking, plotting hostile takeovers, Ponzi schemes and insider trading. Robins are thick into big business. Look at how that bird made me waste that film in Alaska…I had to purchase more because of it – at Wal-Mart. Yes, that seems insignificant as a singular episode, but look at the bigger picture. They are devious. What do you have to buy because of the robins in your neighborhood? Think about it. I guarantee there will be something, whether it be an obvious item like a bird bath or a seemingly unrelated purchase like another Blackberry. Don’t let that orange chest and yellow beak fool you…your day will come.
September 15, 2011
Well Shiver Me Two by Fours
Being low man (woman) on the totem pole at a construction site is kind of like being on a pirate ship. I swab the deck, bail out the rain, go below and walk the plank. I fetch the libations, pick up after the crew and keep the site ship-shape.
I believe all lackeys on job sites with full basements should wear an eye patch. It was shown plausible on “Mythbusters Episode 71: Pirate Special” that pirates wore eye patches to preserve night vision in one eye. (http://mythbustersresults.com/epsode71) That would make it much easier to see when running down “below” to get nails and glue, and would therefore reduce the risk of banging your head into any supports or tripping over supplies.
Pirate songs would also be good to sing while sweeping water off the work platform and especially out of the basement. When you are down below, in the dark, dank, flooded basement, your voice echoes and it’s awfully lonely. What better way to liven it up than by chanting “fifteen men on a dead man’s chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum”?
Of course there are no stairs going up to the platform, so you are constantly walking up and down a plank. It’s hard to get more pirate-like than that.
Big boots like pirates wore would also be convenient. Mud? No problem – big pirate boots. Lots of rain? No problem – big pirate boots. Concrete? Bugs? Dust? Renaissance Fair? No problem! Buckles are optional.
I’m not yet certain how a parrot would prove useful, but I’m working on it.
Something to cut with, like a cutlass or sword, is always a handy thing to have around. On a job site, the smaller derivation, known as a utility knife, might be a better choice.
And tell me what big job site doesn’t have a flag? From the tops of cranes and the skeletons of new skyscrapers you will almost always see the red white and blue flying. Speaking of skeletons, I think I’ll hoist the Jolly Roger.
There are more similes, metaphors, comparisons and hypotheses, but I won’t bore you with them all. I believe I’ve made my point. Now it’s time to get back to work. Aye, matey, it’s a pirate’s life for me!
P.S. Don’t forget International Talk Like A Pirate Day, every year on September 19th! http://www.talklikeapirate.com/
I believe all lackeys on job sites with full basements should wear an eye patch. It was shown plausible on “Mythbusters Episode 71: Pirate Special” that pirates wore eye patches to preserve night vision in one eye. (http://mythbustersresults.com/epsode71) That would make it much easier to see when running down “below” to get nails and glue, and would therefore reduce the risk of banging your head into any supports or tripping over supplies.
Pirate songs would also be good to sing while sweeping water off the work platform and especially out of the basement. When you are down below, in the dark, dank, flooded basement, your voice echoes and it’s awfully lonely. What better way to liven it up than by chanting “fifteen men on a dead man’s chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum”?
Of course there are no stairs going up to the platform, so you are constantly walking up and down a plank. It’s hard to get more pirate-like than that.
Big boots like pirates wore would also be convenient. Mud? No problem – big pirate boots. Lots of rain? No problem – big pirate boots. Concrete? Bugs? Dust? Renaissance Fair? No problem! Buckles are optional.
I’m not yet certain how a parrot would prove useful, but I’m working on it.
Something to cut with, like a cutlass or sword, is always a handy thing to have around. On a job site, the smaller derivation, known as a utility knife, might be a better choice.
And tell me what big job site doesn’t have a flag? From the tops of cranes and the skeletons of new skyscrapers you will almost always see the red white and blue flying. Speaking of skeletons, I think I’ll hoist the Jolly Roger.
There are more similes, metaphors, comparisons and hypotheses, but I won’t bore you with them all. I believe I’ve made my point. Now it’s time to get back to work. Aye, matey, it’s a pirate’s life for me!
P.S. Don’t forget International Talk Like A Pirate Day, every year on September 19th! http://www.talklikeapirate.com/
September 13, 2011
The Case for Potomadoah
Nearly three years ago I visited Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia. I walked to the point, where the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers meet and conjoin. I was advised that from there on to the Chesapeake Bay, the Shenandoah loses its identity to be consumed by the Potomac. I studied the dark, murky, foreboding river, with bluffs plummeting down into it. Images of a primeval monster lurking just below the surface, like at Loch Ness, came into my mind. Then I walked over to the Shenandoah, wide but shallow and clear, with welcoming stepping stones which lead you out nearly to its middle. Lovely tree-canopied picnic areas lined its shore. I pictured Huck Finn with Tom Sawyer skipping stones and chewing on sprigs of straw. What gave the deep, dark scary river the right to supersede the friendly, happy frolicky river? That didn’t seem fair to me.
Although the Potomac may carry a larger volume of water than the Shenandoah to their confluence, the Shenandoah’s history and tradition dictate that in all fairness it should not submit in full to the Potomac. It should, instead, take second billing in sharing the name of the merging of the two bodies of water, therefore, this river, upon the meeting of the Potomac and the Shenandoah, would become the Potomadoah. I will support this theory in the paragraphs below.
Lending itself to this equation are the river’s nicknames: the Potomac – “Nation’s River,” and the Shenandoah – “Daughter of the Stars.” Obviously, the stars are in space, which is an infinitely larger area than the Nation, or even the globe on which the nation exists.
The Shenandoah, in fact, was discovered nearly fifty years before the Potomac. The first recorded encounter was in 1669 by John Lederer, a German doctor; and before the Revolutionary War, our future first President George Washington was commissioned to survey parts of the Shenandoah Valley for Lord Thomas Fairfax. Hence, Washington encountered the Shenandoah long before the Potomac, the existence of which wasn’t recorded until 1736 by Colonel William Mayo. So, not only was the Potomac discovered much later, it was uncovered by a man whose name resembles a food high in saturated fat. We all know that mayonnaise is really bad for you. Even light mayonnaise can still clog your arteries. (True, Captain John Smith recorded experiencing the Potomac in 1608, but since he spelled it wrong, it doesn’t count.)
Parks named for the two rivers speak volumes. The Potomac is represented in this corner by the 11,535 acre Potomac State Forest; and in this corner, wearing blue trunks, the tag team of the 197,438.76 acre Shenandoah National Park and the 1,604 acre Shenandoah River State Park, both in Virginia. Enough said.
The Shenandoah River even has a salamander named after it. The closest the Potomac gets to an animal-related honor is Potomac Horse Fever. I’d rather catch a Shenandoah Salamander than Potomac Horse Fever, wouldn’t you?
Skeptics and Potomac supporters I’m sure will reference the watershed sizes, of which the latter boasts 14,670 square miles, nearly five times that of the Shenandoah. That number does not intimidate my findings. Although, of course, size matters, no one really cares about “watershed.” How often do you hear families say “Yay! Today we are going to picnic in the Potomac Watershed!” You don’t. But you do hear people say that about parks, and clearly the Shenandoah has the Potomac pinned to the mat on that one.
The icing on the cake, without doubt, is the John Denver song “Take Me Home Country Roads,” in which he mentions the Shenandoah River. Who can argue with a song on an album that went platinum?
Favoritism of the Potomac is present and clear. But who stands/stood to gain by embellishing such benefits onto this river? The original name wasn’t even Potomac, it was Cohongarooton. Can you honestly tell me if that was still the name, it would be known as our “Nation’s River?”
Meanwhile, the Shenandoah flows along quietly, victimized by an evil scheme to strip it of its identity, so big business, government, and perhaps even organized religion can benefit. This has conspiracy written all over it.
It has taken me years to summon the nerve to write this dissertation, which I have published from the safety of my secret hideout. I knew the controversy it would cause — potentially endangering my life – so, if you do not see any more posts from me in the future, tell Lynda Carter to keep her eyes open for my body floating down the Potomac. I can see nothing more ironic than that.
© K.S. Brooks 2010 All Rights Reserved
Although the Potomac may carry a larger volume of water than the Shenandoah to their confluence, the Shenandoah’s history and tradition dictate that in all fairness it should not submit in full to the Potomac. It should, instead, take second billing in sharing the name of the merging of the two bodies of water, therefore, this river, upon the meeting of the Potomac and the Shenandoah, would become the Potomadoah. I will support this theory in the paragraphs below.
Lending itself to this equation are the river’s nicknames: the Potomac – “Nation’s River,” and the Shenandoah – “Daughter of the Stars.” Obviously, the stars are in space, which is an infinitely larger area than the Nation, or even the globe on which the nation exists.
The Shenandoah, in fact, was discovered nearly fifty years before the Potomac. The first recorded encounter was in 1669 by John Lederer, a German doctor; and before the Revolutionary War, our future first President George Washington was commissioned to survey parts of the Shenandoah Valley for Lord Thomas Fairfax. Hence, Washington encountered the Shenandoah long before the Potomac, the existence of which wasn’t recorded until 1736 by Colonel William Mayo. So, not only was the Potomac discovered much later, it was uncovered by a man whose name resembles a food high in saturated fat. We all know that mayonnaise is really bad for you. Even light mayonnaise can still clog your arteries. (True, Captain John Smith recorded experiencing the Potomac in 1608, but since he spelled it wrong, it doesn’t count.)
Parks named for the two rivers speak volumes. The Potomac is represented in this corner by the 11,535 acre Potomac State Forest; and in this corner, wearing blue trunks, the tag team of the 197,438.76 acre Shenandoah National Park and the 1,604 acre Shenandoah River State Park, both in Virginia. Enough said.
The Shenandoah River even has a salamander named after it. The closest the Potomac gets to an animal-related honor is Potomac Horse Fever. I’d rather catch a Shenandoah Salamander than Potomac Horse Fever, wouldn’t you?
Skeptics and Potomac supporters I’m sure will reference the watershed sizes, of which the latter boasts 14,670 square miles, nearly five times that of the Shenandoah. That number does not intimidate my findings. Although, of course, size matters, no one really cares about “watershed.” How often do you hear families say “Yay! Today we are going to picnic in the Potomac Watershed!” You don’t. But you do hear people say that about parks, and clearly the Shenandoah has the Potomac pinned to the mat on that one.
The icing on the cake, without doubt, is the John Denver song “Take Me Home Country Roads,” in which he mentions the Shenandoah River. Who can argue with a song on an album that went platinum?
Favoritism of the Potomac is present and clear. But who stands/stood to gain by embellishing such benefits onto this river? The original name wasn’t even Potomac, it was Cohongarooton. Can you honestly tell me if that was still the name, it would be known as our “Nation’s River?”
Meanwhile, the Shenandoah flows along quietly, victimized by an evil scheme to strip it of its identity, so big business, government, and perhaps even organized religion can benefit. This has conspiracy written all over it.
It has taken me years to summon the nerve to write this dissertation, which I have published from the safety of my secret hideout. I knew the controversy it would cause — potentially endangering my life – so, if you do not see any more posts from me in the future, tell Lynda Carter to keep her eyes open for my body floating down the Potomac. I can see nothing more ironic than that.
© K.S. Brooks 2010 All Rights Reserved
