More About Me Monday - Stupid Human Tricks Edition

I found an article about things that most people can't do, no matter how hard they try.  (This is the article, if you're interested.)  I've heard these called Stupid Human Tricks, and I think it's because people look so stupid trying to do the things they can't.  Those who can only look marginally stupid.  Or really cool, in the case of my number one stupid human trick.

So here's my list of Stupid Tricks:

1. Raise one eyebrow.  Only the left, but I'm darn good at it.

2. Licking my own elbow.  I practically get a tongue cramp doing it, but I can do it.

3.  Rolling my tongue.  Much to my non-rolling husband's dismay.

4.  Sneeze with my eyes open.  I've only done it while driving and it's not pleasant.

5.  Tickle myself.  On occasion, only along my ribs.  Very embarrassing if done in front of someone else.

6.  Touch my elbow to my opposite shoulder.

7.  While lying on my back, rest on my knees on my shoulders.   I can actually put them on the bed beside me, under my arms.

8.  Pat my head and rub my stomach at the same time.  And the reverse, actually.



What's your stupid human trick?


- Liz

My Not-So-Secret Shame

Remember this?



Well, that's me watching the replay of the Glee finale last night.


But here's why it's so weird:  I'm not all that invested in the characters on the show.  Don't get me wrong--I enjoy the show.  The characters are not without their charm.  But the reason I watch it is for the singing.


I. Love. Choirs.


And they make me cry.  Almost without fail.


I used to be able to control it.  I used to be in a choir, for God's sake.  A Swing Choir.  Which is a lot like a Show Choir or a Glee Club.  At the time, I would have fought you to the death for saying it was the same.  We wore no sequins!  We sang jazz standards!  We were acapella or accompanied by only one piano!  Our choreography didn't suck!  But, really, it was Show Choir.  And I used to be able to sing all those songs without bawling.


As the years have passed, I have slowly become afflicted with a need to cry whenever I hear beautiful choral music.  In fact, I see my own Swing Choir about once a year at a Christmas performance, and I spend the whole time glassy-eyed and quivery-lipped.  It's pathetic.


I cry in the car all during the Christmas season.  I cry virtually every episode of Glee.  I cannot explain it.


But I do have greater sympathy for that pathetic little Sanjaya fan than I did at the time.


Does Glee make you cry?


- Liz

Open Letters

Dear Friday,


Thursday was not forthcoming with the sleep.  You're going to have to make do with caffeine and sugar.  Starting tonight, we're going on a sleep hygiene diet--promise.


Zzzzzz, 
Me




Dear Fall,


I think you know that you and I haven't exactly been friends in the past.  I hate the cold, and really it's all you have to offer.  Your pollen and mold, while I'm sure delightful in an Earth-renewing kind of way, make my eyes itch and my nose drip.  I appreciate the earlier sunsets a little, because my son is much more willing to go to bed when it's dark, but if we could somehow negotiate for a permanent 8:00pm set time, that would be great.  Also, if you want to put a cap on the cold weather in the 60-something range, I would be willing to reconsider my position on you as an all-around harbinger of suck to come.


With Hope,
Me




Dear WIP,


Let's pick up the pace.  We've done a lot more than this in a lot less time before.  You're just embarrassing me.  I'll bring the chocolate chip cookies and the fingers, you bring the work ethic.


Love,
Me




Dear Zit on my Forehead,


Can we be done now?


Thanks,
Me

Twitter Is...

         

a C.B. radio

a bathroom wall

a confessional

an ad hoc psychiatrist

the hive mind

the lazy man's research tool

a note passed in class

the margins of your notebook

a waiting room

a news channel

a suggestion box

the complaint department

a whisper in the dark

a giggle in Church

the echo off a canyon wall

a booster club

addicting

What did I miss?

- Liz

Vacation Round-Up

(I'm totally waving at you from the beach)

Things I Did Right

1. Stopped at Walgreen's to get some "I know he'll eat this" stuff for the three-year-old on the way to the hotel.

2. Packed the perfect amount of toys and managed to bring them all home in almost the same condition.

3. Didn't overpack my own clothes for once.

Things I Did Wrong

1. Got sunburned, but only on my left shoulder.

2. Didn't drink enough water because I'm a cheapskate who wouldn't pay $4 for a bottle of Fiji water, thank you very much.

3. Shouted the word Pornography! in a ballroom full of my husband's business colleagues. (I had a good reason, I swear)

Things I Learned

1. My three-year-old is a better traveler than I would have given him credit for.

2. The contents of an adult stomach can fit neatly into a disposable kid's cup in an emergency.

3. There is NOTHING GOOD in walking distance from the Ritz-Carlton in Manalapan, Florida.

Obligatory Weird Vacation Occurrences

1. Met a reality-TV star.

2. Tripped over a highway in the ocean.

3. Landed at an airport with no radar.

It's good to be home.

How was your week?

- Liz

Vacation All I Ever Wanted...

Tomorrow morning, I set off for a week at the beach.

Fear not, your normally sporadic blogger has scheduled a surprising number of posts to pop up in my absence.

I may not be around to read and respond to all of your comments, very quickly however, so bear with me and know that I'll be around shortly.

In the meantime, I leave you with the greatest how-to manual of all time:

- Liz

Link-a-Palooza: Contests and Questions and Book Releases, Oh My!

Back for another installment of LINK-A-PALOOZA, in which I give you the lowdown on some great places to go instead of working.

First I bring you Writing Out The Angst, joint blog of Amanda Bonilla and Suzy Haze (who are totally follow-worthy, by the way). To celebrate their new venture, Amanda and Suzy are hosting a CONTEST.

All you have to do is follow their blog(s) and leave a comment. When they reach 100 followers, they're going to offer up Query Critiques to ten lucky followers. Easy right? Go for it.

The same two lovely ladies have a new feature at their blog. Ask an Agent. You can leave one question for an agent (the first is Julia Kenny at Markson Toma Literary Agency) in the comments of the introductory post, then Amanda and Suzy will compile the questions into an interview and post the answers straight from Ms. Kenny's mouth. This could be invaluable, people, so start thinking about your #1 question.

Next up, we have an announcement. MJ Heiser, who kindly let me interview her right at this very blog, is available for pre-order! That's right, CORONA, previously only available in e-b00k format is now rarin' to go in Hardcover. Get yours now!

I just finished listening to Stephen King's Under the Dome and I have to say it did nothing to relieve my literary crush on The King. Whether you love him or hate him, you gotta give the man he's prolific. And I adore him (for many reasons) because he continues to innovate. He's using his clout in the publishing industry to push the envelope. Graphic novels, small publishing houses, audio-only, serial format--the man has done it all. Personally, I loved the book and I'd recommend it to anyone.

Particularly in the audio format. This is an undertaking, people. Forty hours, I think it was, but it was worth it. I really enjoyed the reader, and he did a masterful job of creating unique voices for the whole cast of characters.

I downloaded it from Audible.com, and if you like audiobooks at all, I can't recommend this place highly enough. We have a subscription, which earns us 12 credits a year. A credit gets you a book (sometimes longer ones cost 2 credits), and the subscription gets you a discount on all books, even if you don't use your credits. Best of all, you can download it right to your iPod or several other formats.

And I think that's about all you need to hear from me today.

Have an awesome link to share? Hit me in the comments.

- Liz

Why I Write What I Write

I've said in this forum and others that I wish I could write something "more meaningful" than light romance. This is a position I've slowly eased away from over the last two years as I realize that every writer has their niche and forcing anything else will land you with nothing more than forced prose. Yuck.

So, then I had to wonder--WHY do I write light romance? Considering that I've never dated, it's kind of an odd genre choice for me. Maybe I'm trying to fill some psychological desires, who knows? Then, the other night, my husband and I had an interchange in the kitchen that made me realize where my inspirations come from.

The scene: I'm in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher, when my husband wanders in for a glass of water.

He presses his glass against the dispenser in the refrigerator door and gets the usual cacophony of the ice machine. Nothing falls in the glass.

"Huh, that's weird," he says.

Comprehension dawns, and I stifle a laugh. "I may have put another Popsicle in the ice chute."

(The important fact here is that I put a Popsicle in the ice chute the day before, which resulted in his receiving the plastic tube of partially eaten red juice along with a handful of ice cubes in his glass--an incident which confused him a great deal until I explained.)

His expression goes from confusion to annoyance in the span of a second. "Why did you--?"

I cut him off, "I won't do it anymore!"

He makes a huffing sound that would make a thirteen year old girl proud.

"Would it help if I flashed you?" I offer.

"It wouldn't hurt," he says, but he's not looking at me, because he thinks I'm lying.

So I flash him.

He catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and snaps his head around, grinning.

Then he opens the freezer door. The Popsicle has formed a dam (pretty damn impressive consider it's about a half inch thick) and all the undispensed ice is backed up behind it. Ice explodes out from the tray, rattling across the floor, and cracking him on the knuckle of one bare toe.

This time, I get the full stank eye.

"I said I won't do it again!" I protest.

Another Junior High huff. "I just hope it isn't broken."

"I highly doubt one Popsicle could break the whole ice machine."

But when he's got all the ice scooped out of the chute and the door closed again, the dispenser only churns, but doesn't drop a single cube in his glass. He glares at me.

So, I have to throw a Hail Mary. "Wanna see my boobs again?"

* * *

Romantic? Not really, but I can certainly imagine myself writing a similar scene in one of my books. So, I guess I'm writing what I know. With a heavy coating of imagining to fill out the rest.

I'm going to get the stank eye for writing this in my blog, I'm pretty sure. Luckily, boobs never seem to lose their charm.

Does your art imitate your life?

- Liz

Mysteries of Children's Entertainment

I spend a lot of time watching preschool television and reading children's book to my son. If you just suspend disbelief a lot of it is palatable, and even cute. (Big shout out to Jack's Big Music Show and Maggie and the Ferocious Beast.)

But some of it is just too much for my psyche. I can't even talk about why adults think children like clowns. Clowns are just...never mind, I can't talk about it. I need to sleep tonight.

So, without further ado, I present:

THE TOP TEN MYSTERIES OF CHILDREN'S ENTERTAINMENT

1. Where the hell are Max & Ruby's parents?

2. Why is Caillou bald? For that matter, what kind of name is Caillou?

3. Why does Mickey wear shorts and Donald a shirt? Why do some cartoons wear clothes at all, while others wear none?

4. How did this creepy guy get a televisions show?

5. Why does Franklin (and the rest of his family) have names, but all his friends are named Bear, Skunk, Goose, and so on?

6. Why are all puppets not created by Jim Henson so creepy?

7. Why is there only one female Smurf? Do Smurfs reproduce like bees, with all the males serving one great queen?

8. Why is paranoid 1950s propaganda scare-fest Harold's Trip to the Sky still in print? And why does my son like it so much?

9. Why hasn't someone knocked Wow Wow Wubbzy out with a mallet, tied him up in a bag and tossed it into the nearest river?

10. If Dora has two perfectly good parents, why do they let her go wandering through the jungle alone all the time?

I know I'm just touching the tip of the iceberg.

What bugs you in children's entertainment?

- Liz

You Should See My...

I think most writers have a tendency to self-efface. Maybe I'm a masochist, but I find it easier to receive constructive criticism than praise. Even to the extent that I don't believe people who only offer praise. ("Oh, she'll read anything," "They're just saying that so I'll read they're stuff.")

In my family, the tendency is practically a personality trait. Talent seems to flow like a river through my gene pool, and although none of us believe we ourselves are talented, we are more than willing to tell you about other people in the family.

So, today, that's what I'm going to do. (This sort of counts as More About Me Monday, right?) Okay, then.

I have at least three aunts or uncles, and one cousin who have supported themselves as freelance artists. The rest of them (and there are eight, including my mom) can only draw well enough to get scholarships to art programs, reproduce famous art flawlessly, or give you a Bart Simpson tattoo if the need arises. As any of them, and they'll say, "Yeah, but you should see my _________." Fill in the blank with your choice: brother, sister, nephew....

My mom is a seamstress extraordinaire. I could go on about the Halloween costumes and beautiful dresses she made me as a child, but the real proof is in the fact that she has made wedding dresses for about a dozen of the young women I know, mine included. You don't hand over your wedding dress to just anyone with a sewing machine.

My grandfather, my aunt, and another cousin are all poets so talented you'd wonder why they haven't been named editors of poetry journals--oh, except they'd never submit their work for that sort of thing, because they'll all tell you they aren't as good as __________. (Sidenote: one of them--I won't say who for his/her sanity's sake--has originated the Twitter trend #almostpoetry, in which s/he tweaks famous poetry for hilarious results. My attempts are not so hot, but if you want a good snort now and again, follow @borogroves)

All of which brings me to my point today: My cousin has started a blog and etsy store for her amazing paper crafts. Knowing full well that I could not and would not ever create a scrapbook for my son when he was born, she made me a blank scrap book that only required me to drop in the 4x6 photos. It was the hit of my baby shower, and I think these pictures will show you why:

** try not to be distracted by the cuteness of my son. I know, it's hard, but you're looking at the pages people!

She, however, is convinced that anyone's interest in her work could only be a sign of the coming apocalypse because she is so clearly not deserving of anyone's admiration. The way she sees it, her talent is about a -1 on the scale of 0-10, 0 being "can walk and chew gum at the same time" and 10 being "sings, dances, paints, writes poetry and does competent small engine repair."

This is my public objection to her self-depricating nonsense. Wanna help me? Heart her store, if you're an etsy shopkeeper, follow her blog if you're a frenzied parent, or follow her on Twitter if you're neither of those things.

And, in return, I promise not to pimp out my family to you anymore.

Do you, as a writer, or whatever you might be, suffer from "Yeah, But You Should See My _______" Disease, too?

- Liz

LOST Predictions - You Heard it Here First

I have a long and proud history of being obsessed with television shows. When I like a show, I see every episode, often twice. From Northern Exposure to Friends, The X-Files to Big Bang Theory, if you catch my interest, I will be a loyal fan of the highest order.

So it has been with LOST since the very first episode. The opening scenes were enough to get me wide-eyed and fluttery-hearted. I turned to my husband at the first commercial break and said, "I love this show." I wasn't lying.

Now, it's almost over. Two episodes left. When I'm not busy planning my mourning attire for the big day, I think about how it will end. This is pretty much the main hobby of anyone who watches the show.

So, today, before these precious last two episodes air, I am putting down my predictions in public so that if I am right, no one will think I just made it up after. And if I'm wrong, well, by God, I'm going down in flames. Publicly. The American way. Or something.

The final scene of the show will feature the classic, slow LOST theme (dun-da-dun da-da-da-dun da-dun...) and we'll watch as, alive and well, all the Lostaways disembark from Oceanic Flight 815 at LAX. As scheduled, and on-time. But not to any flash sideways this time, although to an alternate future where all of the events of the past have been assimilated into the passengers. Therefore all our happy couples get their happily ever after. (That last part might be wishful thinking on my part.)

The only difference? Jacob's replacement won't be there.

And I think Jacob's replacement is Jack. BUT, I think Kate will be trapped on the island forever, too.

Here, I have two possible outcomes. Both of them make me want to cry a little, but they came from my own head so I have no one to blame but myself.

In the first, I think Jack will be the new guardian, but Sawyer will be the new Man in Black. And somehow, poor, caught-in-the-middle Kate will get stuck there. An eternal love triangle. I freaking HATE love triangles. That one would really kill me.

In the second, I still have Jack as guardian, but he has to choose between letting Kate die and letting her become the new Man in Black. Being Jack, he will of course choose to save her, pitting them against each other on the island for all eternity.

My brain is pretty twisted, eh?

So, there you have it. My big predictions. I hope I'm wrong in a way, because those endings, while appropriate would be pretty darn frustrating. On the other hand...I do so love to be right about things.

*sobs* I need a new obsession! LOST, what will I do without you?

(In a more rational post, perhaps we can talk about the long arc storytelling the writers of LOST used and how incredibly innovative that was.)

(On second thought, I'll probably be too busy crying quietly at the mere mention of the show for a few years. Hmm...)

If you're not a fan, my apologies. If you are--well, by all means, tell me what you think!

- Liz

In Which I Confess To My Own Grossness

In the last few days I've had reason to acknowledge a couple of my weirder quirks. Unfortunately, they've all been ones that are kind of gross.

Since it's More About Me Monday, and I know how a good dose of Schadenfreude* can get the week started off right, I'm going to let you all in on a few of my secret disgusting habits.

1. I prefer to drink room temperature water. So much so, that when I pour a glass from the in-door dispenser on the refrigerator, I let it sit out for a while so it warms up a bit.

2. I bite my nails. Yes, I am capable of stopping. Yes, I'm aware that it looks gross. Yes, I know that it makes me look like an eight-year-old. I don't care. I don't know why I do other than the fact that they're there.

3. I love Taco Bell mild sauce so much that if I have packets left over after appropriately saucing my food, I will tear the ends off and suck the sauce out directly.

4. When I have a specific craving for a kind of food, I will often settle for eating just that food. Even if that means I'm licking mustard off a spoon.

5. I don't sweat much. Or really at all. This is a documented medical fact. Therefore, I wear my jeans so many times they are nearly sentient when they go to the washing machine. They could probably walk there if I gave them a map.

Bless me Blogger, for I have sinned...nah, forget that, I don't intend to enter rehab for any of these proclivities.

So now you just have to live with knowing these things about me.

Anyone brave enough to share one of their own? Hmm...? Anyone? Anyone...? Bueller?

- Liz

* I know, this isn't precisely a case of Schadenfreude, but it's close. See, you're enjoying the fact that you're better than me because you like ice, don't consider condiments a snack, have a French manicure and clean pants. That sound you hear is me sticking my tongue out at you.

It's a Bird, It's a Plane...No, it's SuperLiz!

I probably spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking about super powers.

I want to have them.

I have a big fat crush on Batman, although Superman is pretty darn swell, too. If a new superhero movie is coming out, I want to see it. From Hancock to Iron Man, X-Men to Watchmen, I love them all.

And after giving it some serious thought, I've decided what superpower I would like to have most of all. Are you ready for it?

TELEPORTATION!!! *swoons, faints*

*comes to*

Sure, flying and super strength would be great. Laser eyes, controlling the weather, making fire, ice, or even paperclips would be a great party trick. But teleportation is where it's at.

Now let me be specific--I want the kind of teleportation that we saw in the movie Jumper. I want to go anywhere in the world, arrive in my clothes without a hair out of place, and be able to take other people and things with me. And I don't want it to hurt like Harry Potter describes Apparation. Just dress appropriately, choose the destination and voila!

I would never have to drive to work again. I could sleep until 5 minutes before I had to be at the conference table for report. I could go on vacation and never get a hotel room--I'd just come home every night. My own bed, all my clothes, and my favorite shampoo and conditioner just waiting for me with no packing hassles.

Got a few extra hours? How about dinner in Paris? How about lunch with a friend in Texas, Florida, Colorado, North Carolina, or even Dublin, Ireland? (Note: Love you, Slingers. *kiss, kiss*) Moving truck? Forget that, I'll just sit on the couch and zap it to my new house. I'd never go through airport security again, I'd never be late for anything, I'd never forget an ingredient at the grocery store...

I'm getting all swoony again. I have to stop talking about this or I'll just be depressed.

So, what would you choose as YOUR superpower?

- Liz

My Magnetic Youth

Over the weekend, my husband and I were sorting through some old things in preparation for a yard sale (Get this, we just get to take our stuff to the sale our friends are hosting--is this not the best way to yard sale or what?!)

One of the things we found was an old zip storage case full of cassette tapes. More to the point--mix tapes.

Now I am not usually one to long for the past. I love modern conveniences (to the point that I fantasize about how fabulous it would be to move to college in the age of laptops and iPods). And I still make a mean playlist. Don't believe me? Check here, here and here.

But seeing these mix tapes gave me a pang of regret. Regret for today's teenagers, who don't know the experience of sitting on the floor, surrounded by a pile of CDs, tapes, or even the radio (hey, desperate times call for desperate measures), and plotting out the perfect collection of songs to express the moment. Whether that moment was for yourself, a friend, a crush, or the love of your high school life, there was a soundtrack. And in my world, the song selections were just the beginning.

Next came the title. I poured over quote books, scoured the inner corners of my mind, chewed the end of my pen as I tried to out-clever myself.

These titles are:

Beatles for Beginners

"Rock and Roll is the Hamburger that Ate the World."

Elizabeth's Extra Tasty Crispy Yummy Tape

Adrenaline, Anyone?

It Makes My Estrogen Want to Tango*

*(note the terrorist-like use of cut out words/letters from magazines)

Beatles for the Advanced Listener

La Cantatrice Chauve

Joe's Rockin' Mix Tape o' Kick Ass Songs

And once that sweet, sweet mix was laid out and named, I took on Cover Art. My medium of choice? Stickers. Inside and out, cassette and its case.

So dedicated was I to the art of the Mix Tape, that I occasionally even made liner notes. Yes, there are more stickers.

Here was a laundry list of my thoughts about some of the selections for Beatles for the Advanced Listener. This particular mix was made for the man who would become my husband.

And I'll never show you what was inside the liner notes. A girl needs some secrets ;)

I was never, and am still not a journaler. I didn't even have one in high school. These tapes--the deliberation, the dedication, the art, and science of distilling a state of mind into two reels of magnetically coated plastic--these are my journals. Or as the Barenaked Ladies might say, "This is me in Grade 9, baby, this is me in Grade 9."

- Liz

More About Me Monday

I feel that I have been a lax blogger of late--and I've got the passive-agressive self-snipes to prove it--so I've decided to start planning my blog days a little better.

So, from now until further notice, Monday will be known as More About Me Monday. I'm hoping that writing about whatever is in my head on the first day of the week will jump start the blogging machine in my head for the week.

Today I'm giving you some random thoughts and facts.

I'm fairly certain that I ate at least three dozen cookies in the last five days. All I know is that I bought a box of 42 from Sam's Club on Wednesday, and there are now two left. Unless my husband has been at them a lot more than I thought--it's all me. Gross, but I'm strangely okay with it.

Today, sometime between 11:31 and 1:31 CDT, I'm getting a new bed delivered to my house. It's making me feel very adult. I haven't had a new bed in almost ten years, and my last one was part of my graduation from college gift. I slept on a futon in college, so it was a huge step toward adulthood at that time. But today, my very own bed that I picked out all by myself (okay, the husband was there) and some big burly delivery guys are going to bring it to my very own house and even cart away my old one. I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight. Scratch that--I'm going to sleep like the dead. Anyone who's had a baby will tell you they don't sleep that soundly.

Walgreen's made me feel old last week. Sitting at a stoplight by a store I don't frequent, I had enough time to read their scrolling LED sign. One of the items the store felt compelled to share with the public was: We process 35mm film. Which, I can only assume, means it was in question. My first camera used 110 film, and now there is a question about whether or not a national chain will process 35mm? I am not that old, am I?

I am.

Today's final thought: I'm having a series of weird tests done on Thursday (I should be a case on House M.D., but that's a story for another day), and in preparation for those tests, I have to stop taking all of my prescribed medications. I also have to stop taking any antihistamines, pain relievers and caffeine. I assume that means I shouldn't be hittin' the booze, either, though they didn't specifically say. So--of course--today, I wake up with a head ache. This is going to be a long four days. As Joanie Mitchell once said, "Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone?"

How was your weekend? What do you think of More About Me Monday?

- Liz

I Will Never

...be Martha Stewart.

...be able to throw a baseball without looking like a sissy.

...post new blogs on a daily basis, or even three times a week.

...stop watching too much television.

...workout for fun.

...pass on a good chocolate chip cookie.

...understand football.

...enjoy potty training my son.

...think ground beef in a frying pan doesn't stink.

...want to go to work.

...stop reading Young Adult literature.

...regret my years in undergrad, even though I don't use my degrees.

...abide snakes.

...read War & Peace.

...stop writing.

- Liz