Stephen Colegrove's Blog, page 12
February 27, 2013
Peanut
Nobody respects the poor peanut. He used to be the man, the star, the dapper danny who danced across a million commercials on a million screens. He used to a nutritious staple and full of protein. Now you’d spit on him in front of his children.
“Gladys, hand me that can of mixed nuts.”
“Yes, dear. Here you go, dear.”
“Gladys, why in the name of Frank Conniff did you buy this garbage?!! It’s got peanuts!”
“Yes, dear, but you’re not allergic. It’s less than fifty percent peanuts, look right there on the label.”
“I think I’m having a stroke. Did you just say I’m not allergic? Of course I’m not allergic! Do you think I’m a Communist or something? Don’t talk to me like I’m only three!”
“Then what’s wrong with peanuts?”
“What’s wrong? With peanuts? What’s wrong with cancer and teenage pregnancy? What’s wrong with wearing a cat on your head and walking naked through the senior center? Every single thing that could ever be wrong with anything in America is wrong with peanuts!”
“Dear, did you take your medicine?”
“No, I didn’t, because it’s got less than fifty percent peanuts! I want a divorce. I want you and your stupid peanuts out of the house. I want this house to have less than fifty percent of a marriage!”
“Yes, dear.”
February 24, 2013
Throwing Stars For Your Conversation
Social butterflies like me have a few weapons in our arsenal when the conversation flags or when it has died and gone to bed, the sort of hypothetical questions that get people talking.
– If you had to marry three people but keep it secret from them and the police, who would it be?
– If you could have any superpower but had to murder anyone who asked the question “what superpower would you pick,” what superpower would you pick?
– You can be any species of clam. Pick one.
– What’s the color of the sky in your world?
And that old stand-by:
– Do your parents know where you are?
One of the best is “Who’s Coming to Dinner?” Choose six people, alive or dead, and a restaurant in any place and time. I’d pick the following:
Ricky Gervais
Stephen Merchant
Steve Coogan
Mike Nelson
Vanilla Ice
Nikki Minaj
The place: Emperor Qianlong’s palace in Beijing, 1762.
Even if you like Chinese food it’s a strange mix, right? I think the first four would be a laugh and Ice and Nikki would either get drunk and make out or raise hell together. Either way, it’s a good show.
February 20, 2013
When The Master is Away
I take care of things when the Master is away. He told me to write a post for him even though technically he’s here and not “away.” He’s trolling Craigslist for “hot deals and cheap women,” as he likes to mumble when he thinks nobody’s around.
At other times the Master also isn’t away but is just editing his novel, and at that point I take care of things.
“Marty, water the petunias.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Marty, feed the hell-hounds.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Marty, find me a self-published author and beat him senseless. Wait! Reverse that––find a senseless author and beat him into self-publishing.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Marty, stop touching my fiancee.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Marty, write and direct a one-man show on the life of Phil Silvers.”
“Who?”
“Sergeant Bilko, you cretin!”
“Yes, Master.”
“Marty, put this dress on and drive to Lodi to pick up my grandmother.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Marty, fetch me a decaf soy cappuccino from the coffee shop.”
With a tremendous waver in my voice, I scream, “No, Master!”
“Marty Fintuzler! Why are you defying me?”
“Because,” I sob, “I don’t know what a decaf coy sappuccino is, Master!”
The Master sighed. ”Hot cuppy-cup from green-white circle place!”
“Oh yes, Master. Sorry, Master.”
I returned with an open bottle of Fresca that I found outside the Manpower office and the Master was not pleased. He’s threatening to make me a character in his novel––for Pete’s sake, does the man have no feelings left at all?
February 13, 2013
2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards First Round
“A Girl Called Badger” made it past the first round of competitors in Amazon’s 2013 Breakthrough Novel Award, Science Fiction category. Fingers crossed that the book makes it further.
http://www.amazon.com/b?node=332264011
February 7, 2013
My Fan-nie Valentine
Some of you who know me or work in small-claims court have raised concerns about the novel such as “You can’t be serious,” “People pay money for this?” and “If I was in a nursing home with only one book to read and this was that book, I would strangle myself with oxygen tubing.”
All those lovely comments aside, there are people (incarcerated) who have read (smeared Jello on) the book and have written reviews and fan-letters to me afterwards (in blood). Here are the highlights:
“Dear Steve: Your novel was perfect! I bought four copies and it blocks the draft under the door like nothing else. (P.S. Please make your second book smaller. The coffee table has a wobble.) – General E. G. Somerset (Mrs.)
________
“Dear Reader: If this is the type of book your are looking for, then you have found it. In the genre of this type of book, this type of book is exceptional. This type of book will appeal to the particular individual that likes this type of book. It will be a fun read, if by “fun”, you mean fun. Fun! Good. (Was that enough? Love, Eugene)
________
“Dear Brain: It’s not often that I write a letter to someone, especially to myself, but the rest of us got together and decided you should stop this novel-writing nonsense. Heart doesn’t get the exercise he used to, carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges think they have a syndrome from all the typing, and Bottom is squashed all day in a chair. The only one who doesn’t want you to stop is that pigpen Stomach and we never listen to his gurglings. So please take up tennis or flyfishing and stop this silly nonsense of writing. — Yours truly, Spleen”
_________
“Hi,
I’m writing this with tears in my eyes,My family and i came down here to London,England for a short vacation and we were mugged at gun point last night at the park of the hotel where we lodged all cash,credit cards and cell phone were stolen off us.I’ve been to the US embassy and the Police here but they’re not helping issues at all,My flight leaves in hew hrs from now and am having problems settling the hotel bills.The hotel manager won’t let me leave until i settle the hotel bills now…Well I really need your financial assistance..Please, Let me know if you can help us out? Am freaked out at the Moment.
Master Chad Ripplebottom”
__________
I don’t usually respond to fan mail, but Chad sounded like he was in big trouble so I had the servant wire him two thousand dollars. What? A scam? The joke’s on that silly boy, then! They don’t use dollars in England.
January 27, 2013
You Know It Is Problem
It is problem when:
1. you’re writing fan mail to yourself because the only people who bought your 1000-page Cuban/high fantasy mashup “Lord of the Mambo Kings” were your mom and the cat
2. the cat leaves a negative review
3. you take the whole bottle of pills that you kept from your bursitis ten years ago but nothing happens
4. the ambulance summoned by the cat shows up but side-swipes your pristine sky-blue 1965 Amphicar
5. you’re stupid enough to park that on the street
6. the paramedics pull you away from the car and slam you onto the gurney while saying things like “Never seen that before,” “Whoops,” and ”Not my fault”
7. the doctor at the hospital examines you while saying things like “Never seen that before,” “Whoops,” and ”Not my fault”
8. the hospital discharges you but your mom is in Cabo and the cat won’t pick up
9. you’re just being stupid now––he can’t drive a stick
10. you finally get home and a hundred neighborhood felines are ripping the place apart, high on Whiskers and catnip
11. you wish you were a dog person
January 20, 2013
The Vorpal Stick of Justice
When you grow up with the same people (whether family, friends, or wards of the state) there’s a shared set of experiences. But even with “sharing” similar experiences and YouTube videos, we’re all different. Some of that is from the DNA strands trying to recombine and propogate variety, to avoid symmetry, the boredom of “sameyness”, traditional “politeness” and eating with a “spoon” like “the rest of humanity” as mother frequently screamed.
My brother, for example, really liked his side of the closet. He chewed through the ropes one time and told me, “It’s not the same in your corner. Where are the stains on the wall and the wobbly floorboard? My rock … where’s my rock?”
I left the exploring to him and brooded in the dark. In the silence. In the dark silence of darkness. The stick got me through all of that, but I kept it a secret from Brother. He would have taken it.
Boredom is good for children, father would say as he shut the door and locked it. Most modern, right-thinking people will nod their heads in agreement as they sit in dark computer closets and type furiously at the Internets. Instead of harnessing the power of human genius to create a race of super-smart and sexy robots they add captions to photos of sleeping cats. Yes, I have but I left the door open one night and they’re gone. You know how that goes. (Cats not the robots.)
To get back to my original point, all of us are different and some are more different that others. Some like to drink NyQuil mixed with Old Bailey’s. Some are throwing up a little in their mouths right now. Some are shouting not to make fun, because some need that olive-green cocktail just to make it to the supermarket to buy more ingredients for an olive-green cocktail. Some are wondering what’s a cocktail and to that I say “Good night!”
I finished the first draft of the sequel to “A Girl Called Badger” and I’m now working on another novel that’s completely unrelated, because people are just sick of the whole “post-apocalyptic struggle to survive sexy girl” genre. I might branch out into “post-apocalyptic struggle to survive sexy Amish girl.”
December 13, 2012
Post-Virus Struggle To Survive Girl
I go down to coffee shop because book is out. Brother work in coffee shop––so what? My family not have cigar factory and own car and use paper money like you. Anyway, he nine already.
Coffee shop not full and he sweep with mop. It not my problem, it economic. Federal Reserve have loose monetary policy.
“Brother,” I say with slap on shoulder. “My book is publish!”
He forget and spit on floor, then sweep it up. “You always come here to say you publish book this, book that. It is like working of clock.”
“But Pyotr, this is my first book,” I say. “You are talking about Uncle Misha. He have multi-volume young adult detective werewolf space man series that release every three weeks.”
“Oh yes,” said Pyotr. “That is right. He have unique take on young adult detective werewolf space man category. It not same rubbish of vampire girl or post-apocalyptic struggle to survive girl. What is your book about?”
I shrug shoulder. “It is post-virus struggle to survive girl.”
“You mean, protagonist is surviving from girl? Is she mean and hairy?”
“No, girl is girlfriend of boy who struggle to survive. Do you want to buy?”
Pyotr lean on mop and sway back and forth like Stevie Wonder at luxury piano. “Eeeee … if there is giant lizard I buy one. Is there giant lizard?”
I nod. “There is. Giant lizard very fierces. He represent man’s inhumanity to man.”
Pyotr raise hand. “Stop! This not spoiler forum. I buy one of your books. Do you have change?”
“Change for what?”
He laugh hard, bending over with hand on knees. “Change … for your ugly face!”
December 11, 2012
And Lo, The Book
And so, the book has come forth.
But hark, cast thine eyes upon yonder slightly tubby and balding gentleman, with fists full of rubles, gold, and gems beautiful like diamonds in the sky.
He rubbed his wide belly and turned from side to side. ”Where mayest I lay mine hands upon thy book,” he sayeth. “Ein Madchen Namens Dachs?”
I inhaled and spit upon the ground with the force of ten geography teachers. “Trollop! Speak not my mother’s tongue in my presence!”
He bobbed and weaved an apology. “Ten thousand Dolly Partons, kind sir. But where can I buy the book?”
“Amazon,” I said, taking out my phone. “Look, here’s the URL.”
November 6, 2012
GIGO The Voyager
You know that old saw, “garbage in, garbage out”?
I thought for years that was just a phrase about garbage, and now I’ve been told it applies to the body. And the mind. What you read and watch changes you. Like those horrible advertisements for “Crest WhiteStrips” and “Cheerios”. How can they show that––children are still watching at this hour! Oh yeah? Well that’s because you’ve seen them and it’s changed you already. Not me––I’m like Rowdy Roddy Piper with his special glasses.
Vast amounts of cathode radiation as a child must be the reason that I wished I were a pointy-eared, green-blooded space hobgoblin who doesn’t have a heart, or a kid with a pocketwatch that could travel in time until that guy shot himself as a joke with a blank and became a vegetable, or a goofy dork stuck on a desert island with a movie star, hayseed gal, rich couple, professor, and my stupid boss. Why couldn’t I be a mountain man and his faithful grizzly, or Melissa Gilbert. (delete this). Yes, it’s the radiation. Or the medication. Or something with “-tion” in the well.
It must have been the well water. Both of my friends watched many hours of the same television I did, and they had no crisis of self-identity. What––are you from the past? Oh. I see. Well, they don’t like being called “imaginary”. The term is “non-real friend” these days. At least that’s what they said.
“Garbage in, garbage out” … you cannot “un-see” an episode of “According To Jim”, no matter how much “Luxury Comedy” you watch and how many bottles of mountain spring water you pour in your red-rimmed eye holes. Sweet release will only come to you as the donkey of time plods inexorably forward.
Released from what? That episode of “According to Jim” you watched. Remember? He’s so lazy and the thing and the thing? Stop spraying water in your eyes and get away from my laptop!
Luxury Comedy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8F7Pn8Owi-8
