FireVaney

On his annual joke show, Garrison Keillor cracked one that went something like this: Grandfather was lying on his deathbed.  The family gathered around him. Grandfather inquired, weakly,  “Are my grandchildren here?” “Yes,” someone gently replied. “Are all my sons and daughters here?”  “Yes,” someone said, “they’re all here.” “My sisters, and brothers, and cousins, too?” “Yes, Grandfather, everyone.” “If everyone’s here,” Grandfather asked, “then why is the light on in the kitchen?”  Twice, Pop has fallen in the dark. Both times, he busted a piece of furniture to break his fall. The first time, it was one of those fold-up “TV dinner” tables. The second time, it was the divan in his bedroom—he broke one of the arms off it. Both times, he got away with minor bruises. He’s fallen in the daylight, too—when he’s been in a hurry. To be sure, nobody has ever, nor will ever, accuse Pop of being a slowpoke.  Last night, I came downstairs and found him watching his favori...

No. The weather outside?  Not “frightful” at all. Me? I look FORWARD  to weather SO COLD that it CRACKS my skin regardless of how much  Lubriderm I smear on.  Honestly (though I AM honest  about the knuckles cracked bloody)* what’s great about  winter  is  LESS NOISE,  NO bugs, and, seemingly,   less crime.  Plus,  with the snow, all the drivers  around me  are  FORCED to drive  the speed  limit WITH me.  Finally. Now, assuming you’re not homeless,  you can always  come in  from the cold.  Air conditioning,  however,  when outside it’s 90 plus,  is not required by law.  Also,  I love my blue jeans,  my heavy leather coat,  and my long, black  “made in England”  overcoat. These habiliments don’t  show how chubby  my tummy  is,  or how scrawny my  arms and legs  are. I feel  tougher,  cooler,...

Kerri, of all people, sought advice from me, of all people, on you’ll never guess what. I drove her home after last night’s rehearsal, and along the way she asked if she could ask a “personal question.” That is, with regard to writing. She asked, “Have you ever written a sex scene?” Since I’d recently started two “X-rated” blogs, my answer was, “Yes.” As Chucky P. would’ve told her, I told her to “unpack the details” of the scene. I advised her to consider each character’s point of view and each character’s past experiences. “How comfortable are they with their own bodies?” I asked. Also, “How well do they know each other?” And, “How hot are they for each other?” Stuff like that. I suggested an exploration of exactly how they wound up in the sack together. “How easy or awkward was it?” I asked. I also recommended envisioning the scene from beginning to end… although I never do.*  17 March 2007  *Due to a dearth of personal experience to draw from and, perhaps, a weak imaginati...

You want to say things that you believe would help clarify the situation. But you feel that actions speak louder than words, because they do. So you wait. And it appears that inaction, actually, will speak louder than, perhaps, anything else. But who is to blame? You are at least partly to blame. But only partly. It takes two to tango. (Christ, how many trite idioms are we going to go for today, eh?) You are not the one who should think about the times that you don’t want to behave when the situation was false and the lawnmowers won’t FUCKING SHUT UP! Let the grass grow. No, don’t. Yes, let it grow, but only up to a certain height. Christ, just let me buy a lawnmower so that I can do it myself on my own schedule and not have to deal with all the fucking noise. But then the same mowers cut the grass next door, too. This is why winter is the best season for writing. NO FUCKING EXTERIOR NOISE!!! Although – and I AM aware that I’ve mentioned most of this before – autumn is my favorite seas...