Friday the 13th meets Cupcake Wars

You know folks, I didn’t even realize that today was Friday the 13th until I read through a few blog posts on the WordPress dashboard. Thank goodness that I have managed to survive. I consider this an amazing feat since I had no forewarning. Thanks FOX News. Thanks CNN. Thanks for nothing! Luckily I have escaped certain death and, being in Japan, I have already weathered most of the evil storm that you all in the states are going to go through over the next 15 hours. As long as I am able to hold it down for the next two hours over here, I should be good to go.

It would have been nice to have known a lot earlier today that somewhere out there lurks a masked killer poised to lob off my head at the drop of a fedora. That is the kind of information that I am looking for when I watch television, but there was absolutely no mention of this ominous date in the media today. Again, this could well be the fact that I am 13 hours ahead of EST, but that doesn’t excuse the media’s lackadaisical attitude towards the most notorious day of the year; not to mention their total disregard for my safety. Perhaps they should issue some sort of “Crimson Alert” type of thing when crazed psychopath killers are out on the loose, but instead of a cutting edge early warning system for serial murderer celebratory days, when I turn on the television, I see Cupcake Wars. Yep, you heard me folks; Cupcake Wars! I flipped on the tv and that is all I got. No warnings, no news, no political banter. Just Cupcake Wars.

For those of you who have never seen this ‘amazing’ television show, it goes a little something like this:
The audience is introduced to four sets of pastry chefs from all over the United States. Occasionally, the viewing public is surprised by an interesting import such as a French pastry chef or a Cambodian cupcake cook. Almost always, there is a contestant who is all tattooed up and is running an edgy bakery somewhere in Southern California. Probably pot cupcakes, but I digress.

These blowhards get all worked up competing against each other to create unique cupcake recipes that revolve around various themes, depending on the week. Unfortunately, there is only so much that one can do with a flipping cupcake. These “chefs” usually come off to me as self-indulgent windbags, especially the moron covered with tattoos that thinks that he is bringing something raw to the world of cupcakes. Newsflash dipstick. There is already something raw about cup-caking. It’s called eggs! Give me a break. You are an overrated caterer for children birthday parties and company potlucks. You make miniature cakes for crying out loud. You don’t even make big boy pastries!

The big shots that run network programming need to get a grip. How the hell is a cinnamon ginger jalapeno cupcake going to stop Jason Voorhees? Perhaps he is a sucker for red velvet, but I highly doubt it. The only red that he wants to see is the blood that he squeezes out of your jugular!

Brother, this one’s for you!

I figured that I would tell you folks a little about my twin, Jeremy.  He, after all, inspired the name of this blog.  There are many stories that I could tell, but I’ll just share one today.  First, a little background information…

Twenty-nine years ago, I shared a tiny room with the young fetus that I now call my brother.  For nine long months, our budding elbows and knees fought turf wars in the womb of our dear mother.  On a glorious night in October of 1980, I bid my womb-mate farewell and entered this world, leaving him to his own devices.  One hour and twelve minutes later, he followed, stealing the spotlight for the first of many times.  It seemed that his arrival was much anticipated, even the doctors cheered as he emerged from hiding.  A side note:  I have always been a practical type and cannot quite understand why our lovely mother bears no ill feelings towards him for procrastinating so, while she lay miserable, on a hospital gurney.  He can be quite charming, I guess.

Throughout our younger years, Jeremy and I were practically inseparable.  We didn’t even call each other by name.  We simply called each other Brother.  Cute, huh?  He was, I admit, a little bit smarter than I, though I was no dummy.  I just seemed easily suckered into his penchant for mischief and tomfoolery.  Jeremy has a devilish twinkle in his eye that, to this day, could lead me straight into the oncoming traffic of trouble.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Jeremy is not evil; not even close.  He just inspires that little red dude on your left shoulder to prod you with his minuscule pitchfork into doing things that you know could end poorly.  Here’s an example:

When I was about six, my brother and I saw a show on television that was all about the space program.  It had astronauts, moonwalks, space shuttles; things that would excite any kid.  I remember wanting to be an astronaut so badly that I could taste the moon rocks.  I would sit in my room at night and pretend that my bed was a space pod.  I spent hours zipping past alien planets, rescuing little ladies from moon bandits, and doing all kinds of cools space stuff.  My brother had gotten pretty keen on my infatuation and he decided to twist it to fancy his amusement.  He convinced me that the dryer, which I didn’t even know existed in our cramped family laundry room, was a tiny space shuttle, one of the Kenmore fame.

“Just look at the air tight space hatch on this baby.”  My brother was smart.  He pulled the square door open.  “There is no telling where you could go in something like this.”  He was one heck of a salesman.

“You know what Jeremy, ”  I said.  A dim little light bulb flickered over my cow licked head.  “I’m gonna take this thing for a spin.”  How true that statement ended up to be!

I donned my space helmet, a vegetable strainer, and tumbled into the dryer.  Before my brother sealed the air lock, I reminded him to give me a proper countdown.  “That,” I added, “is very important.”

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…” Jeremy counted very well for a six year old.  “six, five, four, three, two, one, BLASTOFF!”

Nothing.  I heard him fumbling with the controls on top of my shuttle.  Finally, something began to happen.  I could feel gravity shifting all around me.  This is amazing, I thought.  Very quickly, it began to get hot inside of my exploration vehicle, probably from breaking the sound barrier.  I remember getting very dizzy.  Moments later, limp as a sock, my mother was pulling me from the dryer.  I remember getting a spanking as my brother explained that he tried his darnedest to stop me.  He also mentioned that he feared that I was ‘slow’ and should be held back a year in grade-school.

Thanks for that one Jeremy.  I still get nervous around laundromats.

A novel idea and it’s outline

Hello folks.  Yesterday I told you all about the unlikely inspiration that I received from an aerial assault by a menacing crow.  Well, the idea that was born of the crow’s attack has begun to take shape.  I must say that I am very excited about the beginnings of this idea for a novel.  As of right now, I have never been able to finish any attempt at writing a novel.  I have slogged through many a short story and a passel of flash fiction, but the novel has always been my stumbling block.  Don’t get me wrong, it is my dream to actually start and finish a novel; I just haven’t had much luck with follow through.

Hopefully, my luck with that is changing.  I began my novel outline today and was amazed at the story that began to unearth itself.  It was like a tiny fossil that, as my chisel worked, began to take shape into quite the prehistoric beast!  The ideas were flowing, I got some basic character sketches hashed out, and even a couple of subplots.  I think that I am going to push this outline as far as I can go.  This might be what was missing from my previous attempts at cranking out that elusive novel.  I have never worked an outline before.  Normally, I just plug away as I go, but that has never worked out for the best.  Yes my friends, it seems like the outline is the WAY TO GO.

The novel will be fantasy, but I want to be careful to stay away from cliches and already-been-done story-lines.  Wish me luck while I uncover this fossil…or I guess in this case it would be more appropriate to say-while I hatch this crow’s egg.

Bad news, good news, and how a crow delivered a story idea.

Bad news...

What a difficult weekend!  My daughter has been in and out of the ER for the last couple of days, dealing with an injured shoulder, so my wife and I have been kind of stressed out.  Currently, I am not home (I am quite a ways away), so my poor wife has had to bear this burden all by herself, with my support solely through Skype or via cell phone.  I wish that I could be there for them in person, but I cannot.  Thank God that we have a good cellular plan.  Go Softbank!

Since my wife is keeping me posted via cell phone, I spent a few hours in the park today awaiting updates from home.  The signal inside of this massive steel warship is non-existent, so the park on base became my mobile command post.  Before leaving the ship, I packed my book, grabbed my Sony Mylo, stuffed my cell phone in my pocket, and headed to the park.  On the way, I made a quick stop at Starbucks and purchased a mocha-something-or-other-frappuccino.

Once at the park, I located a nice park bench and began to construct my command and control center.  After I was satisfied with the set up, I kicked back and waited for my phone to ring, providing an update on our daughter’s status.  Enjoying the sun shining down on me through the trees, I settled into the book that I am currently reading, ironically (you’ll soon find out) entitled Crows and Cards.

Good News.

After about an hour of reading, I phoned my lovely wife for an update.  The doctors examined the x-rays and have decided that our daughter’s arm is not fractured!  Great news, although she is still in a lot of pain.  Poor thing.  With that good bit of news, I resumed reading.
How a crow delivered a story idea.

While reading my book, I noticed a lot of aerial shenanigans in my peripheral vision.  I lowered the book from in front of my handsome roman nose (my nice way of saying big) and directed my attention towards the escapades unfolding all around me.  I was suddenly aware of swarms of crows and sea-hawks, giving the resident pigeons a ration of you-know-what.  The crows were diving down towards the pigeons, followed by the graceful and predatory dive of the sea-hawks.

After watching a few unsuccessful dives by the crows and sea-hawks, I realized that the pigeons were scattering in every direction of the compass each time an attacker dove to strike, causing mass confusion among the birds of prey.  It seemed that the vulnerable pigeons had found strength in numbers.  How intelligent these rats of the sky seem to be!

In the heat of battle, an evil crow decided upon a ‘kamikaze’ attack directed towards the pigeons and almost ran into the bench that on which I was sitting.  If it wasn’t absolutely silly, I would swear that the bird was after the shiny ipod that lay by my side.  The wayward crow screamed towards a pigeon, pulled up a little late, and grazed my bench; pointy claws scraping at my nano!  All of a sudden, I was struck by an idea for a story.  Fantastic.  It was truly an inspiration from above.

I guess that is enough excitement for one day.  I will update you folks on our daughter’s status as soon as I can.  I think that she is will be alright, but she’s going to be in pain for a few days.  Wish us luck…

Today I learned that I am a Hobbit

I have always felt that there is something about me that is special, something sensational.  Today, I have found that something.  Allow me, if you will, to explain.

For years I have attributed my short stature and hairy extremities to genetics.  After all, both of my parents are of average height and my father can sprout a goatee at quite an alarming pace.  For those reasons, and a few more that I will not delve into, I have always considered ‘who I am’ to be a sort of hand-me-down from my folks; a gift of genes from two loving parents.  Boy was I wrong….

While cruising the internet today, I stumbled upon a truth that has shaken me to the core.  According to this website, I am Saradoc Brown, a working class Shire hobbit!

The site also provided some additional information:
“You share your Christian name “Saradoc”, with a Saradoc “Scattergold” Brandybuck: The father of Merry Brandybuck, Saradoc was Master of Buckland during the time of the War of the Ring. He is a first cousin to Frodo Baggins, and his wife Esmeralda Brandybuck (née Took) is the sister of Paladin Took, Thain of the Shire. His nickname, ‘Scattergold’, implies that he was very generous with his wealth.”

Wow!!!  I did some further research into my lurid past and also found out that I attended Bilbo Baggins’ birthday party in 1401; Hobbit time, of course.  For those of you who aren’t in the ‘know’, that is the party at which Bilbo up and disappeared, leaving his precious ring behind.  I’m sure that it was quite a shindig.

I also learned that Hobbits are Christians!  Thank God for that.  I can’t imagine trying to grasp the concepts of another religion…not at my age, anyway.

I had to take a moment to let all of this information wash over me.  For years, I believed that I was a normal person living a regular life.  Now, I find out that I am a Hobbit.  I can only assume that an evil enchantment of sorts was placed upon me by a bothersome wizard or something to that effect.  Otherwise, I cannot explain how I never knew the truth of my past.  Whatever the reason, I find myself at the proverbial fork in the road.  On one hand, I can forsake my known family and search for answers to the questions of my past, or I could just keep on truckin’.  Whichever path I choose, at least I know where I got these hairy feet.  Now if I could just find a magic ring, I would be in business.

Give me a line and I’ll give you a story.

I ran into a writing contest today that got my creative feet a dancin’.  It is located here. Actually, it is not a contest at all, but a literary journal that is built upon stories that share a common first line.  I found it while surfing the wild worldly web and didn’t think much of it, until a story idea hit me.  I admit that the story that resulted from this first line is short; three hundred and fifty words kind of short, but it is good.  I would love to share the idea, but you will have to wait until I find out if my story was accepted or not.  Sorry.  Either way, I wanted to share the link with all of you folks out there that may appreciate the occasional “jump start” for your fiction.  Enjoy.  I know that I had a blast with this one….