12/20/04 - The NotWriting Holiday Special

Monday, December 20, 2004
Vol. 14, No. 1
The NotWriting Holiday Special

Hello, and welcome to the thirty-second installment of NotWriting.com, an open journal on how one writer spends his time when he really should be writing.

Note the new look for NotWriting: a generous 12-point monospaced font for column text; more white-space; handy "sidebars" with photos, tips, tricks, and lists; and a "Curmudgeon's Corner" so I can have a place to complain about things not directly relevant to the column. I hope you find the new format easier and more enjoyable to read.

I Got My Christmas Wish
It’s been a little over a month since my last post, but I needed that much time to settle down after an exciting and emotionally exhausting October.

In this Issue

	1. The Red Sox win the series—a photo essay of my Pilgrimage back to Boston. 2. Christmas Resistance. 3. "Humbug Thoughts for the Holidays"—a slide show. 4. The "My Scene" Barbie Dolls—an investigative slide show and movie on these slutty dolls. 5. The Ha-Ha, a debut novel by my friend, Dave King. 6. The First Annual Creative Procrastination Contest!

Hey, you know it’s coming, so let me just say it: THE RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES!

I realize some of you may be tired of hearing me talk about my love of the Red Sox, especially since I’ve already written at length on this topic here and here. So, if the thought of reading one more word about this team nauseates you, or if you simply hate the Sox, you can jump down to the next section of this NotWriting installment. And don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you!

(Those of you loyal readers sticking around, please scroll down.)

My own demented greeting card. Enjoy!

Free Stuff Through
1-800 Numbers!

	Hey, kids, if you're notwriting or notdoing something and you've got some extra time on your hands, you can clean up by calling the 1-800 number on the packages of your favorite products. Recently, I was dissatisfied with our hot-cold Dixie cups (every package had 3-4 broken lids), and I'd gotten half a dozen packages of Reeses where the peanut butter was dried-up and flaky. Thing is, these companies count on people being too busy to deal with such mundane matters. You just have to make the time. For example, Georgia-Pacific (they produce Dixie products) was appalled to learn of my broken lid problem. They sent me coupons for three FREE packages of cups with lids! Now that's service. The nice folks at Hersheys mailed me three $1-off coupons, which translates to approximately 4 free packages of peanut butter cups. (By the way, I made sure to remind them that I'm still pissed about the plastic Hershey bar wrappers.)

My Pilgrimage to Boston
Good, now that we’ve gotten rid of those
lame-asses, let me tell you a story...

Once upon a time there was a baseball team, the Boston Braves, that for some reason changed their name to the Boston Red Sox. (Probably because the “Braves” name was stupid, but anyway.) Early in the 20th Century, they won some pennants and five World Series. Then, in 1918 (their last World Series win), Harry Frazee, owner of the Sox and theatrical producer, got the brilliant idea of saving a few bucks for his next smash Broadway play by trading his star player——Babe Ruth. And for the next 86 YEARS, the Red Sox couldn’t manage to win the Series.

That is, until October 27, 2004.

After the Sox won Game Three of the Series, I sensed a sweep coming, so the next morning I rented a car and drove out to Boston. As you’ll see in this Red Sox photo essay (can be a slow loader; make sure you have good bandwidth), I was right in the heart of the pandemonium that night, and I can honestly say it was one of the best experiences of my life. (Which perhaps tells you something about my “best experiences”——but anyway.)

I liken my Boston sojourn to the Hajj——the centuries-old Islamic Pilgrimage to Mecca. There the goal is for the Muslim to make it to Mecca, circle the Kaaba (a holy place in the form of a big brick cube) seven times, and reenact Hagar’s frantic search for water by walking back and forth between two hills seven times.

The goal of the Red Sox Pilgrimage is remarkably similar to the Hajj: make it to Boston, circle Fenway Park seven times, kiss the brick wall beneath the Green Monster, and then stagger between as many bars as possible in a frantic search for beer. Both Islam and Red Sox Fandom are what you’d call "haahd-core" faiths.

The photo essay goes into much more detail about my Pilgrimage to Fenway, so I’ll leave it at that. The following, however, are a few juicy scenes from that emotional month of October——scenes that, while they don’t merit long discussion, are picturesque in their own way. To wit,

* During Game 3 of the ALCS (the game in which the Yankees bitch-slapped the Sox, 19-8), I got so pissed-off at Hideki Matsui for being such a great hitter that I delivered an uppercut to the CD player/radio I was listening to the game on and destroyed it. Brilliant, I know, but that’s what being a Sox fan is all about——highs and lows, baby; highs and lows.

* As soon as the final out came in Game 7 of the ALCS, I ran to the window and mimiced the ANNOYING "Yankees Radio Network” announcers. (For those of you unfamiliar with these jerkoffs, let me enlighten you: At the end of every Yankees victory, one of them yells into the microphone, “The Yankees win! Thaaaaaaaa Yankees win!”) So, what did I do? I ran to my apartment window——one that abuts an alley for a nice, juicy ECHO——and yelled, “THE YANKEES LOSE! THHHAAAAAAAAAAAA YANKEES LOSE!” Amazingly, I didn't hear a peep in response.

* On my way up to Boston, I pulled into a town in Connecticut because I needed a phone card for our cell phone (no contracts for us). So, I went into a Cingular store figuring that since it was a cell-phone store, they'd have some. I was wearing my Red Sox cap because I thought I was back in New England, but the second the people working there saw it, they lit into me about how Sox fans were so obnoxious. One of these people, a wheelchair-bound assisant manager, was such a prick, I seriously considered ramming a fistful of phone cards down his throat.

Okay, so enough Red Sox talk. I got my Christmas wish, and isn't that all this 34-year-old boy could ask for?

(Actually, no. The Red Sox winning and a sandwich of Julianne Moore, Ashley Judd, and a pound of crisp bacon——that's all this 34-year-old boy could ask for.)

The Christmas Resistance Movement
How many of us are tired of the incessant commercialism that goads and guilts us into buying stuff we don't need, that other people don't need, and that we can't afford? Apparently, a lot of us.

One cartoonist I discovered recently, Nina Paley, has created a site around the idea of Christmas Resistance. If you're at all annoyed by the crass consumerism that emerges from the swamps of humanity every December, I urge you to check it out.

In my own little act of Christmas rebellion this year, I created a little multimedia show, "Humbug Thoughts for the Holidays." For your convenience, there are three versions: (1) a simple scrolling web page; (2) an on-screen slide show (to see it full screen, click on the button in the bottom right corner of the browser window); and (3) an animated PowerPoint version that you can download by right-clicking here.

As another part of my Christmas Resistance, I created three versions of a multimedia expose of Mattel's "My Scene" Dolls. In case you haven't seen or heard of these dolls yet, allow me to enlighten you: they're basically little whore-dolls for 10- to 13-year-old girls.

Version 1: A simple scrolling web page (just the pictures; no music, no nuthin'; will probably load the fastest).

Version 2: A web slide show (no music, no animation; tends to be slow; when it comes up, click the bottom-right button to get a full-screen presentation).

Version 3: A Quicktime movie (right-click to download; 6.5mb with animation and music; requires Quicktime and a high-speed connection; may be slow).

Fun Holiday Ideas!

	Here's a good trick for finding out what gifts you got—drink a big bottle of Clorox. Then, when you get rushed to the hospital, just before you go unconscious, ask your mother, "Hey, ma, what'd you get me?" ******************************* This year, instead of cookies and milk, leave a couple bottles of cheap wine for Santa. That way, he'll be too drunk to drive the sleigh and you can steal all those presents! ******************************* Now, a trick that's guaranteed to keep the little ones from finding out what they got. Rather than locking the gifts in your car trunk, put them under the Christmas tree and lock the kids in the trunk. (Don't worry—toss 'em a blanket and drill a couple airholes...they'll be fine.) ********************************** Here's an inexpensive, fun thing to do when decorating the tree: Take a couple bulbs out of the string of lights, so when someone goes to plug it in, it won't light up. Then, kick back in a nice rocking chair with a bottle of whiskey and enjoy the confusion.


	The Night the Sox Won: See all of the mayhem in this photo essay.

	Julianne Moore: A key ingredient in my ultimate sandwich.
	The XmasResistance page, by Nina Paley.
	No, this isn't an ad for a new Sex in the City—these are the infamous "My Scene" dolls for girls. And yes, they are slutty-looking.

As you'll read in the presentations, I have a real problem with the trend toward what my wife, Alexas, refers to as the "sluttification" of our young girls. It seems like everywhere you turn, somebody——pop singers (e.g., Britney, Christina, Beyonce), toy manufacturers,and clothing designers——are encouraging our pre-teen girls to dress, talk, and put-out like $20 hookers. Not that I have any experience with $20 hookers, or callgirls of any denomination for that matter, but a guy I used to work with did, so I heard about them from him.

The Ha-Ha by Dave King
Recently I had the good fortune to meet and become friends with an up-and-coming novelist, Dave King. In January, Dave's novel, The Ha-Ha, will be released, and it's already getting excellent reviews.

I designed, and my friend Jason is hosting, a web site for Dave where you can read all about him and the novel. There's also an excerpt.

It's an incredibly unique and heart-wrenching story about a man who loses the ability to speak, so we feel his frustration and loneliness at his plight. And if you pre-order his book, I'm sure I could persuade him to sign it for you, which could be worth something someday.

The First Annual NotWriting
Creative Procrastination Contest
I know, I know——I've been talking about this thing for over a year, but it's finally going to happen, and I wanted my loyal readership to get first dibs. Here's how it's going to work:

1. Writers in all fields and genres are encouraged to submit true accounts of the ways they shun the Muse. Entries may be up to 2,500 words and should explore the humor, as well as the hardships, of being a procrastinating writer.

2. Of the hundreds of anticipated entries, 10 winners will be chosen for prizes (to be determined) and publication in a special edition of NotWriting.com.

3. Entrants may submit up to three accounts——this way, if something better comes to you down the road, you can send that in, too. The deadline for entries is Memorial Day, 2005.

I honestly hope to get entries that are better than the slop I usually offer you folks, so by all means send in your best. I'll be sending out a press release to the general public on January 3, 2005, however I encourage you to use the extra two weeks to get ahead of the competition.

To submit your entry now, just email it to me at contest@notwriting.com (NO ATTACHMENTS, PLEASE), and I'll confirm receipt. I can't wait to start reading how you people spend your time when you aren't writing.

Announcing the NotWriting
Creative Procrastination Contest

Amazon Honor System

Your donations are appreciated

So, once again we've reached the end. Truly, I hope you enjoyed this special holiday issue of NotWriting; I hope you got a few laughs that took your mind off your troubles.

I wish you, your friends, and your families health, wealth, and happiness this holiday season and into the New Year.