Dispatches from the City of Angels
I'm a writer and humorist living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my novel LOSING CLEMENTINE out March 6 from William Morrow. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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Favorite Quotes:
"Taint what a horse looks like, it’s what a horse be." - A Hat Full of Sky by Terry Pratchett
"Trying to take it easy after you've finished a manuscript is like trying to take it easy when you have a grease fire on a kitchen stove." - Jan Burke
"Put on your big girl panties, and deal with it." - Mom
"How you do anything is how you do everything."
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Go, Stinky, Go!
Don't you just looove the Olympics?
I love the whole thing. I love the crazy Italian, modern dance, guy-in-a-body suit opening ceremonies. I love the overcoming cancer/poverty/polio/bunions/Siamese twin athlete bios. I love the parade of nations. I love watching some guy from a country I've never heard of win a sport I didn't know existed. I will watch curling, speed skating, cross-country skiing, luge, hot dog-making. Whatever. I am addicted.
But here's the thing I don't get. The guy - it's always a guy - is about to win the race or come in second or fifth or whatever. Nobody is going to pass him. He's got half a dozen yards to the finish line. And what does he do? Slow down! Smile, wave to the crowd, shake his ski poles at the camera, dance the tango. And then oh, so casually, he crosses the finish line.
Dude, what are you thinking? It's the Olympics! You're not finished yet! Run the race. Run the whole race. It's a matter of personal pride. For God's sake! Go, Stinky, Go!
I think there should be a guy with a cattle prod stationed in the wings for just such an occasion. Think you're going to stop and wave? No way, Stinky. Zap. See Stinky run! Want to blow kisses into the crowd? Not until you've crossed the finish line, buster. Zap. High fives? Zap. Zap. Zap.
It could be a whole new sport unto itself.
I love the whole thing. I love the crazy Italian, modern dance, guy-in-a-body suit opening ceremonies. I love the overcoming cancer/poverty/polio/bunions/Siamese twin athlete bios. I love the parade of nations. I love watching some guy from a country I've never heard of win a sport I didn't know existed. I will watch curling, speed skating, cross-country skiing, luge, hot dog-making. Whatever. I am addicted.
But here's the thing I don't get. The guy - it's always a guy - is about to win the race or come in second or fifth or whatever. Nobody is going to pass him. He's got half a dozen yards to the finish line. And what does he do? Slow down! Smile, wave to the crowd, shake his ski poles at the camera, dance the tango. And then oh, so casually, he crosses the finish line.
Dude, what are you thinking? It's the Olympics! You're not finished yet! Run the race. Run the whole race. It's a matter of personal pride. For God's sake! Go, Stinky, Go!
I think there should be a guy with a cattle prod stationed in the wings for just such an occasion. Think you're going to stop and wave? No way, Stinky. Zap. See Stinky run! Want to blow kisses into the crowd? Not until you've crossed the finish line, buster. Zap. High fives? Zap. Zap. Zap.
It could be a whole new sport unto itself.
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