Tuesday mornings are pretty slow here at "Revenge of the Living Blog". And that's why I'm posting.
I spoke to some other people, researched the data, and turns out that owning an Audrey Hepburn fleece blanket would be far too weird even for me. I should understand that she is no longer with us, and no amount of memorabilia will ever bring her soul back into existence.
Also fellow blog viewers (I do believe you know who you are), I have yet to find a typewriter packaged and addressed to me sitting on my doorstep. I thought that talking endlessly about it would somehow guilt trip someone into shipping me an old busted typewriter (it must still work though, or else I'm sending it back). Apparently my sly attempt at getting something free wasn't very sly at all and goes to show that none of you are loyal fans. Now go read a blog about mexican food or the Obama adminstration. I'm obviously not topical enough to peak your interest, or subconsciously manipulate you into buying things for me.
The new job is going very well, although I've noticed some rather strange things about the building, such as the doors of two of the four stalls in the men's bathroom on the sixth floor remain perpetually closed (clearly transportation units to the Ministry of Magic) and a few times while riding the elevator, the elevator doors will open on a floor between the sixth and the first and no one is there to board the elevator. Yesterday the doors opened on the fifth floor. There were only a few lights and a very dark hallway straight ahead. Oh, and some sort of large blue recylcing bin. But there was absolutely no people. So the doors stood open for a very long time, then slowly shut, and I continued my journey down to the ground floor. What I'm hitting at here is that, the building is clearly haunted (and a medium for Wizards and Witches to travel).
...
Sorry, I completely zoned out there and watched four youtube videos. It's like college all over again.
That's all I have today. Please, feel free to send questions, comments, and concerns (and typewriters) to canyon.behind.her@gmail.com. I might get to them (Unless it's the typewriter. I'll immediately get to that. But you'll need to ask for my address first).
Have a good Tuesday.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Never Too Late To Buy Your Favorite Blogger Birthday Gifts
Today I was walking through St. Louis' ever famous "South County Mall" with a dear friend of mine, Kyle Richter. As we're walking, we pass Spencer's Gifts. In the window they had a fair selection of fleece blankets, which I'm a big fan of (Which reminds me, winter is on it's merry freaking way and I have to start to prepare for the attack [Dry lips, dry knuckles, involuntary shaking]. Fleece is always a fine thing to have in the armory when winter comes [and flannel]). As we pass the window I do a double take, noticing a now very familiar face. Apparently some human being had the brilliant idea of putting Audrey Hepburn's face on a fleece blanket. I nearly bought it. Then I thought, "Oh man, am I a weirdo? I mean, it's not like it's a towel. And Audrey was a wholesome enough person. But yet, I do have this very strange obsession with her, wanting ever so much to develop a time machine in order to go back and woo her and fool her into marrying me. I may even be a weirdo for even thinking this. I need to seek help". But I didn't and don't plan to. I'm comfortable with my fake love relationship with Audrey Hepburn. For the most part. Look, don't judge me. Everybody has got their, "person". Even you. You know, that one famous person you've dreamed of being married to, except, mine's been dead for almost twenty years.
All right. Maybe a fleece blanket would be a little weird...
BUT...whoever buys me that and a typewriter gets best friend privilages (Yes, my respect is conditional). I have a birthday in three months. Plenty of time to buy me, if nothing else, the blanket. It's going to be a cold winter, and only Audrey's warm, fleecy smile will get me through it.
Now, with all that said, we can move on to things with more bearing on life.
As I've already stated in a previous post, I will start working (officially) part-time at Chalice Press. Before I was working in the printer room. But now I have my own little office! With a window! I've never had a window before. I get to look at birds.
Now, the office was originally someone else's before I got there, but she's no longer there. She left as of a year and half ago, but the weird part is, near as I can tell, it has been untouched ever since. For me, it's a little errie. It's almost like when a relative dies, and then you go over to the house to visit relatives, and the only room they have for you is the dead realtive's room. And you have to sleep in it. And it has been left as is since they passed. Even the scary porcelain clown doll collection.
Okay, it's not quite that unnerving. You're absolutely right. But still, there is something ever so slightly unnerving about it. Like, she had to get out of there so fast she didn't have time to take her stuff. I'd like to know she's in a better place. And that she won't mind me playing with her thumbtacks.
That's enough for today. Off to brush teeth and get cozy in my bed. That could always be cozier (Wink [you know what I mean]). Happy September 19th to you all.
All right. Maybe a fleece blanket would be a little weird...
BUT...whoever buys me that and a typewriter gets best friend privilages (Yes, my respect is conditional). I have a birthday in three months. Plenty of time to buy me, if nothing else, the blanket. It's going to be a cold winter, and only Audrey's warm, fleecy smile will get me through it.
Now, with all that said, we can move on to things with more bearing on life.
As I've already stated in a previous post, I will start working (officially) part-time at Chalice Press. Before I was working in the printer room. But now I have my own little office! With a window! I've never had a window before. I get to look at birds.
Now, the office was originally someone else's before I got there, but she's no longer there. She left as of a year and half ago, but the weird part is, near as I can tell, it has been untouched ever since. For me, it's a little errie. It's almost like when a relative dies, and then you go over to the house to visit relatives, and the only room they have for you is the dead realtive's room. And you have to sleep in it. And it has been left as is since they passed. Even the scary porcelain clown doll collection.
Okay, it's not quite that unnerving. You're absolutely right. But still, there is something ever so slightly unnerving about it. Like, she had to get out of there so fast she didn't have time to take her stuff. I'd like to know she's in a better place. And that she won't mind me playing with her thumbtacks.
That's enough for today. Off to brush teeth and get cozy in my bed. That could always be cozier (Wink [you know what I mean]). Happy September 19th to you all.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Good Ideas
I'm eating Dunkaroos. Yes, the little snack that was unhealthy and packed with deadly sugar but you still loved as a child. Or at least I did. Enough to become fat (more on that later). A friend of mine found them and bought a box for me to indulge. To her I could not be more grateful. Mostly to have another opportunity to live in the 90's again. Which, by the way, reminds me of the great thing Teen Nick has decided to do. In an effort to, I suppose, just give up on making any new material, they brought back the classics of 90's nick. Which is fine by me for two reasons:
1). 90's Nick made life okay. It brought me up into the wholesome human being I am today (along with probably a few other things).
2). The stuff they were showing on there before they got the bright idea of replaying old shows in their 11pm-1am time slot was trash. Sorry.
I don't blame you, Teen Nick. I do not blame you. So, to that, I give the head nod of appreciation. It's the highest form of flattery from me. You should consider yourselves geniuses for the decision you've made and retire somewhere nice. Some place with palm trees. That's just my preference. I'm sure you've got some good ideas.
All right. With all of that said and put behind us, we can get to the sweet juice of this post that I've been grinding in my mind all day.
Pour.
Honestly, though, I really don't have a whole lot to report. Some cool news that just went down today is that the intership I've been doing at Chalice Press will now become a part time gig with pay. I'm darn excited. So, I'll be serving not only the tea lords but also the publishing world. Hopefully soon it will all lead to something else...like me living in Portland. It's the next logical step. Become the west coast beat poet I've dreamed of turning into. Do hipster things. Eat organic food. Wear "vintage" clothes. Make friends with hip musicians in indie bands with names like, "Collin" and "Tanya". Yeah man, this whole publishing thing is sure to open some doors to let out my inner yuppie.
Interjection: I'm wearing some sweet fuzzy pj pants. They're no match to my Tyrannosaurus Rex/Jurassic Park pjs I had when I was but a tot, but they are stinking comfortable. I have had them for nearly a year. I suppose there could have been a better time to mention them in the past, but now you know I have some extremely comfortable pajama-jam pants. I recommend investing in some. And if I ever owned a business, fuzzy pajama pants would be mandatory.
"Look Earl, I know it's your first day, but khaki slacks? Come on, man, chill out. Throw on these fuzzy pajama pants. Yes they're clean, smell them. Yeah, Snuggles soft with a hint of mountain breeze scent. Now you're ready to get 'em, tiger. Go out there and power point the pants off them. But not their pajama pants. Their metaphoric pants. We want to keep these people comfortable."
Either that, or we all wear kimonos. Kimonos and fuzzy pajama pants. Wow, that's fantastic. You know you want to work for me now. Too bad, you have to apply first. Then there's this thing we do with new folk who want a job: Interview. And after that is the survival test. I open the trap door, you land in the room with the t-rex with bear arms and a shark tail that breathes fire. If you outwit it, we may give you a call back.
Cool. Well, I'm going to bed. No, you can't come. That's really weird. Plus Mike Lee is his own man and likes to flail and roll about in his bed. He needs all the room for his unpredictable sleep movements.
Take care, take care, take care. See (or write) you somewhere on the other side.
1). 90's Nick made life okay. It brought me up into the wholesome human being I am today (along with probably a few other things).
2). The stuff they were showing on there before they got the bright idea of replaying old shows in their 11pm-1am time slot was trash. Sorry.
I don't blame you, Teen Nick. I do not blame you. So, to that, I give the head nod of appreciation. It's the highest form of flattery from me. You should consider yourselves geniuses for the decision you've made and retire somewhere nice. Some place with palm trees. That's just my preference. I'm sure you've got some good ideas.
All right. With all of that said and put behind us, we can get to the sweet juice of this post that I've been grinding in my mind all day.
Pour.
Honestly, though, I really don't have a whole lot to report. Some cool news that just went down today is that the intership I've been doing at Chalice Press will now become a part time gig with pay. I'm darn excited. So, I'll be serving not only the tea lords but also the publishing world. Hopefully soon it will all lead to something else...like me living in Portland. It's the next logical step. Become the west coast beat poet I've dreamed of turning into. Do hipster things. Eat organic food. Wear "vintage" clothes. Make friends with hip musicians in indie bands with names like, "Collin" and "Tanya". Yeah man, this whole publishing thing is sure to open some doors to let out my inner yuppie.
Interjection: I'm wearing some sweet fuzzy pj pants. They're no match to my Tyrannosaurus Rex/Jurassic Park pjs I had when I was but a tot, but they are stinking comfortable. I have had them for nearly a year. I suppose there could have been a better time to mention them in the past, but now you know I have some extremely comfortable pajama-jam pants. I recommend investing in some. And if I ever owned a business, fuzzy pajama pants would be mandatory.
"Look Earl, I know it's your first day, but khaki slacks? Come on, man, chill out. Throw on these fuzzy pajama pants. Yes they're clean, smell them. Yeah, Snuggles soft with a hint of mountain breeze scent. Now you're ready to get 'em, tiger. Go out there and power point the pants off them. But not their pajama pants. Their metaphoric pants. We want to keep these people comfortable."
Either that, or we all wear kimonos. Kimonos and fuzzy pajama pants. Wow, that's fantastic. You know you want to work for me now. Too bad, you have to apply first. Then there's this thing we do with new folk who want a job: Interview. And after that is the survival test. I open the trap door, you land in the room with the t-rex with bear arms and a shark tail that breathes fire. If you outwit it, we may give you a call back.
Cool. Well, I'm going to bed. No, you can't come. That's really weird. Plus Mike Lee is his own man and likes to flail and roll about in his bed. He needs all the room for his unpredictable sleep movements.
Take care, take care, take care. See (or write) you somewhere on the other side.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Summa Time
Well, I'm back from an incredibly busy summer. Busy, busy, busy. Nothing but things to do, people to see, and universes to save. I'm wiped out.
All right. That first part was a lie. I've done (for the most part) nothing. Things I've done this summer:
1.) Finished the Harry Potter books
2.) Worked
3.) Started a bit of an internship at a Christian publishing office (unpaid)
4.) Saw Incubus live (finally)
5.) Went on a float trip down the drunken river of destruction (Yes, that is an exaggeration. But did you know that there are more drunk people in southern Missouri than sober people? It's insane.)
That's about it for the high points. Pretty slow summer (first in awhile). Now the weather is finally beginning to settle down so that autum can be given a proper welcome. We do welcome you autum. You're very beautiful and we wish nothing for the best while you're here, but I can't help but think about winter slowly walking behind you, brining the cold and plans to wipe out what beauty you've dressed the world with. These days are in fact getting shorter as well. Too soon, I say. 2011, you've hardly had time to really sit and speak. You've been pacing the room, looking at your watch, and kicking back drinks, anticipating only to leave us. You were rather quiet. I hope only to make small talk before it's time for you to leave. Create a couple memories. Take a photograph. Post it on Facebook. If you'll only grant us that much.
Just to keep my loyal fans in the know, I've been thinking of making another blog. One with a bit more "focus". This is just a scatterbrained mess that I keep around to help prevent writer atrophy (has it helped?). I've thought about a blog of mini-stories (shorter than short stories) or a blog based around tea, or some other thing I'm obsessed with (Time Travel, Audrey Hepburn, etc. etc.). So if there is ever a day when this blog "vanishes" or mutates into some altogether different, you'll know the reason. But until I buckle down and decide what to do, you can read this to your leisure. And I'll continue to write throw away material every couple of months.
Recently I've been considering buying a typewriter. My mom used to have one that I used in my amatuer writing days. Ah, fine days those were. I started out as a horror writer. You know, Steven King stuff. I was only about 9 at the time, but I wrote some really creepy stuff. Short, disturbing stories with titles like, "The Poltergeist" and "The Gremlins". Then about seventh grade I moved to sci-fi. I began a novel called "Sight From the Eagle's Eye". Wrote it at night during the summer of 2000 by hand on sheets of notebook paper. I got to about chapter four and then quit. It's lost foever now.
Tangent.
Anyway, my point being, I want a typewriter and I want it to be rather small. Travel sized if possible. Something Kerouac or Ginsberg would have toted around. So, just donate to my typewriter fund, or send me the old typewriter and I'll get started on my sci-fi time travel epic, "The Universe Is Ordinary". You'll get an advanced copy for your troubles, and by advanced copy I mean that you'll recieve a copy of the original manuscript when it reaches completion. Also, I'll sign it. And you can also come with me on my five city midwest tour, and if you're really qualified and trustworthy, you can be my agent. Yes, the agent to "Mike Lee the Extraordinary". Think about it. We'll grab lunch, hang out. Become best friends.
That's all. Nothing more. It's 2:22pm CST. I'm still in my pajama-jams, listening to that song from The Matrix when Morpheus and Neo are walking down the street during the agent training program. Life is considerably simple and boring (Which is why I need you to invest in me and become my trusted agent). And to answer your question: Harper Collins is a fine for publishing my book. I'm okay with that.
Hope everyone had a great summer, a fantastic labor day. Enjoy your week (call me).
All right. That first part was a lie. I've done (for the most part) nothing. Things I've done this summer:
1.) Finished the Harry Potter books
2.) Worked
3.) Started a bit of an internship at a Christian publishing office (unpaid)
4.) Saw Incubus live (finally)
5.) Went on a float trip down the drunken river of destruction (Yes, that is an exaggeration. But did you know that there are more drunk people in southern Missouri than sober people? It's insane.)
That's about it for the high points. Pretty slow summer (first in awhile). Now the weather is finally beginning to settle down so that autum can be given a proper welcome. We do welcome you autum. You're very beautiful and we wish nothing for the best while you're here, but I can't help but think about winter slowly walking behind you, brining the cold and plans to wipe out what beauty you've dressed the world with. These days are in fact getting shorter as well. Too soon, I say. 2011, you've hardly had time to really sit and speak. You've been pacing the room, looking at your watch, and kicking back drinks, anticipating only to leave us. You were rather quiet. I hope only to make small talk before it's time for you to leave. Create a couple memories. Take a photograph. Post it on Facebook. If you'll only grant us that much.
Just to keep my loyal fans in the know, I've been thinking of making another blog. One with a bit more "focus". This is just a scatterbrained mess that I keep around to help prevent writer atrophy (has it helped?). I've thought about a blog of mini-stories (shorter than short stories) or a blog based around tea, or some other thing I'm obsessed with (Time Travel, Audrey Hepburn, etc. etc.). So if there is ever a day when this blog "vanishes" or mutates into some altogether different, you'll know the reason. But until I buckle down and decide what to do, you can read this to your leisure. And I'll continue to write throw away material every couple of months.
Recently I've been considering buying a typewriter. My mom used to have one that I used in my amatuer writing days. Ah, fine days those were. I started out as a horror writer. You know, Steven King stuff. I was only about 9 at the time, but I wrote some really creepy stuff. Short, disturbing stories with titles like, "The Poltergeist" and "The Gremlins". Then about seventh grade I moved to sci-fi. I began a novel called "Sight From the Eagle's Eye". Wrote it at night during the summer of 2000 by hand on sheets of notebook paper. I got to about chapter four and then quit. It's lost foever now.
Tangent.
Anyway, my point being, I want a typewriter and I want it to be rather small. Travel sized if possible. Something Kerouac or Ginsberg would have toted around. So, just donate to my typewriter fund, or send me the old typewriter and I'll get started on my sci-fi time travel epic, "The Universe Is Ordinary". You'll get an advanced copy for your troubles, and by advanced copy I mean that you'll recieve a copy of the original manuscript when it reaches completion. Also, I'll sign it. And you can also come with me on my five city midwest tour, and if you're really qualified and trustworthy, you can be my agent. Yes, the agent to "Mike Lee the Extraordinary". Think about it. We'll grab lunch, hang out. Become best friends.
That's all. Nothing more. It's 2:22pm CST. I'm still in my pajama-jams, listening to that song from The Matrix when Morpheus and Neo are walking down the street during the agent training program. Life is considerably simple and boring (Which is why I need you to invest in me and become my trusted agent). And to answer your question: Harper Collins is a fine for publishing my book. I'm okay with that.
Hope everyone had a great summer, a fantastic labor day. Enjoy your week (call me).
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