This; And also that

Mystery solved

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We got snapped at this weekend, asking for directions. We pulled up next to this pleasant seeming, elderly type lady, and we rolled down the window, and we said: “Hi! Excuse me! Can you tell us how to get to thusandsuch? Do we take this turn?” And she said, with a huge twinkly smile, “Yes, you take that right and go straight for 17 miles.” And then, still smiling, but now sinister and suddenly cold, the moisture on her eyes flash-freezing like a splash of water zapped to the far side of Planet X: “Why don’t you buy a map?”
What?!
For the next two miles we ran through different scenarios. What was her problem? I mean, I love to give directions around my hometown. Drive up beside me. Roll down the window. You’ll see how inappropriately pleased I can be, showing off my vast knowledge of the local grid — “Oh yeah, you’re almost there — just three more lights up!” or: “OK, so. Go down past the park with the climby train, take the first right and then the soft left at the high school — you can’t miss it. Hey, you have a nice day too!” Great stuff.
We swung around a wide curve in the road and a jagged stretch of coastline came floating into view. From our vantage point driving along the high cliffs, the beach looked a lot like a squiggle drawn by satellite sensors. And then of course. It was so obvious. What incredible bad luck! — an angry cartographer! We’d stopped an angry cartographer and asked her for directions. It all made sense. No wait, not angry. Just sad, really. In a bittersweet way.
“Why don’t you buy a map?” she’d said. And it echoed echoed echoed as we rolled along toward thusandsuch. “I’m so hungry. No one will hire me. I hate mapquest. Please. Friend. Why don’t you buy a map?”

Pooh

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My wife was reading the last few pages of Pooh to our kids the other night and it made her cry. So I took over, and yes, yes it nearly made me cry.
Flat out, Pooh is one of the great tragedies. Which got us and our good pal “So-Called Bill” ruminating over how much sadder even the saddest story would be with Pooh in the lead.
Of Mice and Pooh. “Do I get to take care of the bunnies? I want to take care of the bunnies.” I mean come on. What’s sadder than that?
Flowers for Poohgernon. In which Pooh becomes really really smart. And then gets reduced back to being just a bear of little brain. I’m crying right now. You know? It’s amazing. I’m typing this, and I’m actually sobbing.
The English Pooh. In which Pooh is left in a cave. To die.
Or worst of all: Old Pooh. In which Pooh gets rabies and, and Christopher Robin, he has to go get a shotgun and — and he — I’m sorry. I need a moment.
OK… Deep breath. So Old Pooh. In which Pooh gets rabies and he starts to foam around the mouth and Charlotte, she’s just dead. And it doesn’t matter if three baby spiders stay because Charlotte’s still dead and Wilbur, he’s all alone. And then Wilbur gets a gun and shoots Pooh.

Blog’versary

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A tad over twelve months ago, I blogged my first post. It’s been a fun year, writing these poems, reading that book, collaborating on that cauliflower, making that monkey noise, and whatnot. Thanks to everyone who’s been dropping by. And special mad props to xian who makes this all possible and who suggested I getta blog in the very first place back in March 2003.
On a related note, I’ve been really enjoying the blogs of comrades such as RaptorMage, Kim Said, and the notorious Mrs. T. I know blog blog blog, we’re all pretty burned on that word. But the thing about blogs is, they’re an amazing gift to folks who like to write — just a really powerful way to get yerself off the stone. Or perhaps on that stone. Or just by the corner of said stone. In a writerly way.
All to say, let me highly recommended the blogging life to any of youse writers what want to be writing a little bit more, and you know who you are….
In other news, as the Gravity’s Rainbow Deathmarch nears its wrap, here’s a heads-up that we’ll be starting DM2 with a somewhat smaller though still challenging book right around the end of May. More details soon. Hope to see ya there,
-Cecil

Knock Knock

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Here’s a joke my four-year-old told us at dinner tonight. I enjoyed it and thought you might too:

Knock knock.
Who's there?
You know what's broccoli made of?
You know what's broccoli made of who?
Peas.

Shaq Diesel and Me

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Last night I dreamt that Shaquille O’Neal dropped by my house. He had a lot on his mind and he was looking for a distraction — a chat, maybe a movie. I was happy to see him.
We talked for a bit, Shaq and me. Then California Representative Maxine Waters showed up, and she was even more beautiful in person. We were both really struck by her grace and her dignity, her almost shimmering presence.
After Representative Waters left, Shaq Diesel and I sat down to watch the movie Sideways. He really liked the part where the one guy lies about why he’s so late. And we both laughed at the scene with the alligator in the back of their car. That was crazy! It was a living alligator! But before too long, Shaq got up to go home.
It wasn’t that it was a bad movie, he told me. It was just a little bit boring, alligator and all. And he had a lot to do the next day.
Shaq’s a very busy guy.