November 2006 Archives

This is my last post of November - the thirtieth in thirty days. From a word production point of view, November has been a hectic month. It has also been a hectic month from a word consumption point of view.

I completed eight books in the last thirty days. With the exception of two of the titles, they were all light and humorous reads, which explains how I was able to tear through them so quickly. Nowhere in the small print of this yearlong challenge was there ever any mention that my book selections had to be daunting or humorless (or even tasteful for that matter) and I took full advantage of that omission. I might as well use the loophole while I can. Who knows what restrictions might be imposed next year?

For those who aren't familiar with the rating scale, it's easy enough for a ferret to understand, which is why I outsourced it to a ferret to rate each book on a scale from 0 to 10. Anything with a 6.5 or higher is a book the ferret would recommend. I simply provided quality control to ensure the numbers were within the range. Here's the list...

1. Big Money by P.G. Wodehouse (7.9)
2. Common Sense by Thomas Paine (6.6)
3. The Truth About Diamonds by Nicole Richie (5.0, a score low enough to almost warrant a peek. Almost.)
4. Bold Sons of Erin by Owen Parry (6.4)
5. Wintersmith by Terry Pratchett (8.3)
6. Mike and Psmith by P.G. Wodehouse (8.2)
7. Something Rotten by Jasper Fforde (7.7)
8. Blandings Castle by P.G. Wodehouse (8.0)

This month, two new cafes opened in downtown San Jose. I know because I have a knack for noticing these things. These things being things that are new and coffee-related. Of course, if something has been around for ages and has nothing to do with coffee, then I probably have no clue it exists and will remain clueless until some kind person politely pokes me in the ribs and points it out.

The first place I noticed was eMocha Cafe. It's located on the first floor of an apartment building at the corner of Sixth and Santa Clara Streets.

The cafe is about the size of a walk-in closet with barely enough room for a coffee bar, a small refrigerator, and two benches. Actually, they aren't really benches. They're window ledges covered with cushions. I think they're more for show than for use.

The two times I've been to the cafe, I've ordered the drip coffee. They serve Bluebottle Coffee, a rare brand in town, and every cup is individually brewed.

For two dollars, one of the baristas will grind exactly forty-five coffee beans, carefully transfer it to a filter, and slowly pour 11.25 ounces of 200-degree-Fahrenheit water evenly over the grinds. He or she will then personally supervise and inspect every drop that drips into your twelve-ounce cup, ensuring it achieves the optimal level of extraction, thereby producing the perfect cup of coffee.

At least that's what I hope they're doing for that price. I couldn't really say since the barista's back was to me during the four-minute process.

Seriously, though, the coffee is good. It's also strong. I'll probably go back just because they open early (6 AM) and they're near the office. For anyone visiting downtown, the cafe is a few blocks out of the way and probably not worth the walk. There are plenty of cafes closer to the heart of the city that offer good coffee for less money.

One of those is Cafe Stretto, the other new cafe, which is located on the first floor of the Fairmont Hotel. It faces the alley that separates the original hotel from the new annex, closer to the Market Street side. To be more precise, it's situated between The Grill on the Alley and the new South Bay offices of the Earthquakes and Oakland Athletics.

In terms of size, it's about six square feet larger than eMocha. They do wonders with that extra space. They somehow manage to fit two tables-for-two and a window bar with stool-seating for four inside without stacking any furniture. They also have outdoor seating for those brave enough to sit outside and watch their espresso develop a layer of ice.

I tried Stretto for the first time yesterday. I ordered a doppio mocha that would have cost me $13.57 if I hadn't counted the change the barista gave me.

In the two seconds between the time I pointed out the mistake and the time she began serious button-pushing negotiations with the register to open the cash drawer, the barista gave me a look that made me doubt myself. For a brief moment, I actually considered the possibility that the drink might cost that much. This was the Fairmont Hotel after all and they served Illy coffee, another hard-to-find brand (at least in downtown San Jose). Luckily, her expression quickly shifted from accusing to apologetic and my doubts faded.

The drink was very tasty and I'm pleased to report that it took much longer to develop a layer of ice than I thought it would. If you plan to venture downtown, perhaps to visit Christmas in the Park or skate at Downtown Ice in the Circle of Palms, the cafe is worth a try.

On Monday, I heard the following poem on The Writer's Almanac. Leo Dangel wrote it and it's called "Closing in on the Harvest".

Closing in on the Harvest

No one could stop him.
A bad heart, he still
worked in the field
and said he would die
on the tractor.
Out on the Super-M
picking corn, somehow
he got off, though,
and sat on the ground,
leaning against the tire,
where we found him.
His eyes were wide open,
looking mean as hell,
like when he was alive
and chores weren't done,
but his hand
lay on his chest, gentle,
making us think
he was pledging something.
We could smell
the dry wind.
The tractor radio was on
to the World Series—
Cardinals 7, Yankees 5,
Bob Gibson on the mound,
one out to go—
the steel corn wagon
was not quite full.

I was reading the NaNoWriMo forums the other day and came across the topic of Terry Pratchett as inspiration. The thread began with the following post...

"So, who here considers Terry Pratchett a major source of inspiration for anything humourish or full of wit? I find him an excellent fount of satrical skill. I've never really met anyone else who reads Pratchett and draws from him. Anybody?"

The first thing that struck me was the word humourish, which I took to mean something that isn't humorous, but is almost, but not quite like humor. It's like hilaritish or amusish, but more elegant and accurate in its description.

The second thing that struck me was how contributors to the thread immediately took the word inspiration to mean influence. Instead of saying how Pratchett inspired or motivated them to write something funny, they gave examples of how his writing influenced or crept into their writing. It seemed that instead of inspiring a new generation of clever and original humorists, the creator of Discworld had inadvertently hatched a legion of Pratchett clones with an unbridled affinity for footnotes.

That's when my overactive imagination came to life...

Song on my mind... "Rainy Days and Mondays" by The Carpenters

Hanging around
Nothing to do but frown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down

It isn't Monday yet, but that didn't keep the song from sneaking in my left ear and making itself at home in my head. It slipped in while I was observing the darkening morning sky and thinking about how nice it would be to hang out and read somewhere dry and warm on a rainy day. (This is the danger of installing a pet idea door. It's great for letting your favorite thoughts come and go as they please, but every so often an unwanted stray wanders through.)

I spent the day at San Jose Market Center and Santana Row in San Jose. I was your typical flâneur, merrily café-hopping from Panera Bread to Starbucks to Peet's Coffee, reading and drinking coffee with abandon (I was too absorbed in my book to notice if it was reckless or not). I call today's activity Aggressive Loafing. Done properly, it is taxing on the body, which is why I took a break after midday for some nourishment at L & L and another one late in the afternoon for a stroll along the Row.

After an entire day of Aggressive Loafing, I was exhausted. The drive home sapped the last of my strength and I barely had enough energy to crawl to my favorite recliner for a nap.

I reached 50,000 words around 9:30 Thanksgiving evening, but was unable to officially validate it until this morning.

This year provided a unique challenge in that I wrote nearly all of my novel on the computer, instead of on the Palm V. This allowed for a number of opportunities previously unavailable to me, like:

• spellchecking
• surfing the net for research purposes
• surfing the net for procrastination purposes
• referring to previous chapters of the story to check for consistency
• knowing my exact word count as I typed

By Day 8 or 9, I was looking for a way to combat these opportunities. That's when I found a word processor called Writeroom, which essentially re-creates the simple writing environment of my PDA on my iMac.

It's a nifty little program and I'm actually using it right now to type this entry. It helps keep the distractions away. By the way, one of my resolutions for the coming year will be to increase my resistance to distractions.

As I've done in previous years, here are some of this year's NaNoWriMo statistics. Last year's statistics are shown in parentheses:

Words written: 50,272 (50,165)
Hours of writing: 40.75 (34.75)
Highest one-day count: 3,918 (3,906)
Lowest one-day count: 0 (0)
Percent of novel written on my PDA: 0 (67)
Least productive day of the week: Friday (Monday)
Number of writing days: 22 (23)
Number of zero-word days: 1 (4)
Cups of coffee consumed (above "normal"): 7 (27)
Pounds of Skittles eaten: 0.25 (0.35)

For those still writing steadily towards the finish line... Good job so far! Keep up the good work! Remember to stretch before and after every intense typing session and stay hydrated. The last thing you want is to get into a good groove and suddenly cramp up.

I knew today was Buy Nothing Day (BND), but I was bad and bought gifts anyhow. I didn't actually buy anything until after 5:00 p.m., which means if I were being graded on my ability not to buy anything, I would receive a C- (including partial credit for reluctance). It isn't a failing grade, but certainly a mark indicating room for improvement.

Back when I was in school, I always liked extra credit. To help boost my BND grade, I propose a little extra credit assignment in the form of buying nothing tomorrow. Assuming the point of BND isn't the specific day, but the awareness of and a shift in the attitude towards one's consumerism, then withholding my money from the economic engine for a day (even if it's the day after) should be worth at least half a grade.

It has always been (or at least it seems like it has always been) a family tradition to visit the theater on Thanksgiving to watch a movie. Although the family is gathering to celebrate the holiday (at the Santa Cruz Wharf), we won't be taking in a show before the feast this year. Chalk it up to the majority's disinterest in the current box office offerings. Maybe next year.

In honor of the tradition, I thought it would be fun to make a list of the Top 5 Currently Released Movies I Would Choose to See this Thanksgiving.

1. Stranger Than Fiction
2. Bobby
3. Casino Royale
4. For Your Consideration
5. The History Boys

Whatever your family traditions may be, treasure them. Happy Thanksgiving!

Robert Altman passed away yesterday. He was 81. I recently saw the last movie he directed, A Prairie Home Companion, starring (from most to least favorite actor) Kevin Kline, John C. Reilly, Garrison Keillor, Virginia Madsen, Meryl Streep, Tommy Lee Jones, Woody Harrelson, Lily Tomlin, and Lindsay Lohan. It also featured the regular performers from the radio show of the same name, but I must admit a failure to recall their names without cheating and looking them up. With time and regular listening, I'll eventually have them memorized.

My favorite Altman film is Gosford Park. I love the characters, the story, and the setting of the movie. I love how the camera flows through rooms full of people (e.g. a drawing room with an assortment of well-to-do couples and guests) and captures bits and pieces of their conversations; every bit and piece providing a revealing glimpse of each person. I love how the camera is always moving and how easily one forgets it's moving. It's the film that made me a fan of Clive Owen, Kelly MacDonald, and Helen Mirren. It's also one of the few films I never get tired of watching.

I haven't seen many of Altman's films, but I plan to rectify that in the coming weeks. I just finished my mini-marathon of Christopher Guest movies (Spinal Tap, Best in Show, and A Mighty Wind) as a prelude to seeing For Your Consideration, so I've lined up three Altman classics for immediate viewing: M*A*S*H, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, and Nashville. They're mainly a refresher course. After that, I plan to see some of his movies that are truly new to me.

Do you have any favorite Robert Altman films that you would recommend watching?

I've been collecting the special edition coffee sleeves from Starbucks. Only four are pictured here, but a few hours ago, I collected my fifth. I believe I'm missing at least one to complete the set.

Collecting coffee cup sleeves is silly, but fun. I did a little digging through my journal and thought I'd point out two previous entries on the topic. In 2002, I talked about Starbucks holiday coffee sleeves. In 2003, I mentioned how art on coffee sleeves brightened my day.

Three years later, they still do.

A true major league baseball fan would have his or her ear against the Astroturf every day, listening for tiny vibrations, those advanced warnings of players hired, fired, retired or traded (the non-rhyming member of the transaction quartet). Naturally, nobody has conducted a long-term study on the effect of constant skin contact with Astroturf, which is why I keep my head far away from the stuff. I'm not going to risk an ear shriveling up, turning green, and falling off just to learn, five minutes before everybody else, that the Yankees traded Gary Sheffield to the Tigers. It's interesting news, but not worth an ear.

For fun, here is a list of five baseball tidbits, mostly related to local teams, that some true fan likely lost an ear over to report first:

1. The Oakland Athletics are moving to Fremont. I was ecstatic about the news until I learned the earliest the team would move to their new ballpark, Cisco Fields, would be in 2010.
2. Oakland's Frank Thomas will be playing in Toronto next year.
3. Oakland is interested in acquiring Barry Bonds. Can the A's convince him to play across the bay? And if so, does Bonds have enough left to linger another four years to play in Fremont? Does he even have enough left to put up Thomas-like numbers next season?
4. San Francisco's Moises Alou will play for the New York Mets next year.
5. Bill Mueller, who once played for the Giants and won a World Series ring with the Red Sox in 2004, retired and joined the Dodgers' front office.

Another November day nears its end and I'm 3,000 words closer to completing this year's NaNoWriMo challenge. The ultimate goal would be to finish by Thanksgiving morning. Part of that depends on how much writing I can accomplish before tomorrow night's Heroes. The episode is touted as the biggest one yet. I'm hoping it lives up to the hype. The show has been one of the few bright spots in an otherwise lackluster season of network television.

If you ever need to get to Chenery Street in San Francisco from 280, don't exit at Alemany Boulevard like Yahoo! Maps recommends. If you do, you will have to negotiate a confusing series of forks in the road that will leave you lost, miserable, and wishing whoever had designed those forks had been beaten senseless with a spoon. The experience will also leave you in tears. And while there's no shame in crying, AAA road maps aren't waterproof (at least mine aren't).

Instead of Alemany, exit at Monterey Boulevard and conserve some time, gas, and patience. With the holiday shopping season upon us, you're going to need that patience; unless you've already completed your shopping, in which case, there's a spoon I'd like you to meet.

Chenery Street is home to a cluster of coffee shops, restaurants, salons, and boutiques. It's also home to Bird & Beckett Books & Records (technically on Diamond Street, but close enough). Unable to resist the temptation of an independent bookstore, I had to stop in.

When I entered, only a few incandescent lamps were lit, giving the tiny place a dark, mysterious atmosphere. Books were everywhere. They filled every shelf of every bookcase. They sat in stacks on top of the bookcases and in piles on the floor in front of them. The store didn't have the sterile, organized feeling of a Barnes & Noble. New books mingled with used books, old editions with revised editions. It felt like a place where books were read, not merely sold.

As I perused, I was struck by the romantic notion that I might stumble upon a rare or forgotten book. I might come across a title I had been wanting for ages and then find a better one next to it. I was immediately overcome with the feeling that I had to leave with something.

I had no idea what that something was at first, but then I remembered my previous visit to a bookstore (Borders Express, I believe). I had been looking for books by P.G. Wodehouse and hadn't been able to find a single title. So, I went hunting for Wodehouse.

What followed was a brief but invigorating search. In the end, I came across two titles. Not wanting to be greedy, I flipped a mental coin and chose a used copy of Mike and Psmith (the P is silent).

It wasn't exactly a rare or forgotten book, but it was good enough to brighten my day, bolster my belief in independent bookstores like Bird & Beckett, and make the earlier driving confusion seem entirely worthwhile.

Another November day is nearing its end and I'm a little closer to reaching the 50,000-word milestone. I wrote today's installment in a Starbucks on the east side of San Jose.

I think it's safe to say the coffee chain's Christmas conversion is complete. It has been for the past two weeks, but today was the first day I was immersed in it.

The sight of my red cup with white-silhouetted figures gathered for a holiday feast got my eyes in the spirit of the season. The smell of my peppermint mocha got my nose in the mood. The taste of the drink got my tongue in the swing of things. My fingertips were too busy typing to care much about the holidays. Only my ears felt left out in the cold by the store's festivities for the senses.

To stop their whining, I bought them the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas to listen to while I typed. They've always been suckers for Vince Guaraldi. By the end of the first track ("O Tannenbaum"), they had settled down enough for me to write in peace and reach my daily quota.

"The problem is that we think the opposite of funny is serious. It is not. In fact, as G K Chesterton pointed out, the opposite of funny is not funny, and the opposite of serious is not serious. Benny Hill was funny and not serious; Rory Bremner is funny and serious; most politicians are serious but, unfortunately, not funny. Humour has its uses. Laughter can get through the keyhole while seriousness is still hammering on the door. New ideas can ride in on the back of a joke, old ideas can be given an added edge."

- Terry Pratchett, giving an acceptance speech for the Carnegie Medal he won in 2001 for The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents.

Instead of taking the train or light rail to work this morning, I gave a third mass transit option a try. It's called the San Jose Express (or Line 55) and it's a new express bus that's been running between Monterey and San Jose since the end of August.

The ride costs just four dollars ($1.25 less than a one-way train ticket) and supposedly takes just 40 minutes (25 minutes faster than the light rail). For me, it's almost the equivalent of a door-to-door shuttle service.

You might wonder why it has taken me over two months to ride it and the answer is simple. Taking the San Jose Express means I must leave the house five minutes earlier in the morning. That may not seem like much, but shaving five minutes off my morning routine requires a minor miracle.

Well, today, I finally managed a miracle and got to the bus stop two minutes before the advertised departure time. I used those two minutes to congratulate myself. I then stood and shivered for another twelve minutes while waiting for the bus to arrive.

On the bright side, this is the nicest transit bus (express, late, or otherwise) I've ever been on. From the outside, it looks like your standard white and turquoise bus (white on top, turquoise below), but inside, it's a first-class ride.

There are overhead baggage compartments, reading lights, and adjustable air nozzles. The cushioned seats recline and have adjustable footrests and armrests. The bus is also heated. My favorite amenity, though, has to be the fold-down tray, upon which I can set my PDA and write.

We're a few minutes away from my stop and seven minutes behind schedule. We must have made up time on the freeway. If only the powers that be could guarantee a late bus every morning (thereby eliminating the need for a miracle), this would be the perfect way to get to work.

Every word counter has its quirks. Ours usually errs on the generous side. If you want to see how many words our counter thinks you have, you can upload your manuscript here for an official count.
- from NaNoWriMo's Word Count page.

If you're participating in NaNoWriMo this year and have been diligently updating your word count on the site (for bragging rights, or, in my case, to boost my region's word count so California: South Bay no longer trails Kansas or Holland & Belgium), then you probably know there are two ways to update it.

The first is the Honor System method. This requires John Q. Novelist to type a number into a simple text box - presumably the number of words he actually wrote (not the number he should have written or thought about writing) for his novel.

The second way is the Verified method. This requires Jane Q. Novelist to upload her manuscript as a plain text file to NaNoWriMo's word counter. They trust she's uploading her own manuscript and not one she found on Project Gutenberg.

During the first week of November, I updated my word count using the first method. It was only four digits, so it was no trouble. But by the second week, my count was five digits long, which was, I felt, one digit too many to ask my tired fingers to type on a daily basis, so I migrated to the second method.

Instead of entering that troublesome fifth digit, I converted my novel to a text file, hit the browse button on the website, clicked down through the various branches of the file directory, clicked back up after following the wrong limb, clicked down another one until I found the file, and uploaded my 15,051-word novel for counting. No trouble. Their word counter worked its magic and updated my word count to 15,049.

It was only off by two words, so I didn't give it a second thought. I blindly accepted the counter's "quirks". Although it didn't err on the "generous side" as they claimed, I wasn't going to worry about a pair of words that likely got bored while waiting to be counted and went joyriding instead.

But over the last week, every time I uploaded my novel to their counter, more words disappeared. Earlier this evening, I uploaded my latest version and the word counter claimed I had 30,003 words, which is nothing to cry about, but what you don't know is that I submitted a 30,057-word manuscript. A whopping 54 words were missing.

Something more than a mere quirk was responsible for their disappearance and I wanted answers. I spent the next two hours sleuthing. I searched everywhere for clues, but only found dead ends. It was only when I stopped to unload my socks from the dryer when the answer hit me. It was so obvious. There must be a word gremlin inhabiting the counter.

It may seem like a stretch, but it was a reasonable stretch, as I soon learned. A quick check of the The Observer's Book of Monsters confirmed my seemingly outlandish theory.

According to the book, the NaNoWriMo Word Gremlin lives in the counter's lint trap (apparently, the contraption was created using old Maytag parts). The creature hibernates eleven months out of every twelve, but awakens each November to feed on redundant expressions, decorate its nest with extra commas, and insulate its bedding with fresh interjections of laughter (ha ha, hee hee, ho ho ho).

There's no known way of killing or eradicating the gremlin, so the only actions a novelist can take to minimize word loss is to omit needless words and keep character laughter to a minimum, which is disappointing because I was looking forward to writing a comma-intensive prison break scene involving inarticulate convicts and canisters of nitrous oxide.

So, a word of advice to novelists out there: Always write more words than you need and beware of the NaNoWriMo Word Gremlin.

I passed the 25,000-word mark earlier today. To mark the occasion, here is another excerpt from the novel. I apologize in advance for any roughness or blandness. This is but a rough draft and it's below the fold…

Thanks to the wordhog known as NaNoWriMo, I'm embarrassed to say I'm plumb out of words. Oh, sure, I have a spare the, an unused henceforth, and a rare plenipotent I was hoping to work into the story somewhere, but otherwise, the word well is almost dry. What you read here are the last few drops I've been able to wring out of my brain.

So, to give my brain a rest, instead of writing, I thought I'd share a photo I took of Carmel this afternoon. Give me a little sunshine, a double latte, and a good book on a Sunday by the coast and I'm happy.

With any luck and a little sleep, by tomorrow, my brain's word supply will be replenished.

I happened to stop by Terry Pratchett's website and discovered Feegle Free-Fall, a funny game based on the Nac Mac Feegle that appear in a few of his Discworld novels. I definitely recommend giving it a try. It'll only take a minute and it's a great way to burn of steam if you're stressed, get a laugh if you're down, or procrastinate if you're attempting to write a novel. I've played it [number redacted] times and scored a high of 160 so far. Not bad.

I should add that I still intend to read Pratchett's most recent novel, Wintersmith, and I hear he's in the process of editing his next Discworld novel, Making Money. Exciting!

We must be ready to dare all for our country. For history does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid. We must acquire proficiency in defense and display stamina in purpose.

We must be willing, individually and as a Nation, to accept whatever sacrifices may be required of us. A people that values its privileges above its principles soon loses both.

- Dwight D. Eisenhower, from his first inaugural address.

In observance of Veterans Day (or Armistice Day, as it's known internationally), which is officially tomorrow, the company gave us today off. According to the official website, the purpose of the day is "to honor America's veterans for their patriotism, love of country, and willingness to serve and sacrifice for the common good".

My two grandfathers and my father are veterans. My grandfathers both served in the Air Force during World War II (one in the European theatre, one in the Pacific theatre). My father served in the Marines during the Vietnam War.

To them and to all veterans: Thank you.

I thought today would be a good day to share a few jewels I discovered in The Truth About Diamonds, the book I joked about reading, secretly swore I wouldn't read, but ended up reading anyway. It's also a book I've now linked to three times in the past week, which can't be good for my health.

I share these not to mock the author (because I know my blog could be mined just as easily for equally pristine jewels of silliness), but to spread a little joy and happiness. When it comes down to it, my writing and Nicole Richie's writing are, I'm embarrassed to say, eerily similar in quality. The only real difference is that people actually read what she writes.

Ana had a way of entering a room with all the subtlety of a sexual assault. (p. 21)

Her MAC makeup - she always only wore eyeliner, no base, and an unblended shade of lipstick to match her outfit - was no match for her despondent tears. (p. 32)

Chloe looked back over her shoulder at her serious-as-cancer mother. (p. 110)

Hugs were not allowed, even if supposedly initiated by the stars, and pictures were forbidden, but Chloe broke both edicts, causing the line to move as slowly as FEMA. (p. 148)

My reunion with Chloe was bittersweet - chocolate, that is. (p. 183)

The Persian motif was haywire, with fake gold Arabic script and cat statues everywhere. The bed had what looked like reams of netting around it, straight out of somebody's warped vision of what a sheik's inner sanctum might look like. It was so Sinbad, it was good. (pp. 202-203)

Today is the first day of the second week of NaNoWriMo, the usual point in the journey when the story you're writing sputters, the disbelief and denial drive disengages, the rubber band powering your creative engine slackens, and just when you think it couldn't get any worse, the right tire comes off and rolls into a ditch dug specifically for self-detaching tires.

Things look so bad, so bleak, you contemplate abandoning the heap of junk, hitching a ride home, and consoling yourself with a gallon of chocolate ice cream and fresh episodes of Lost, reruns of Jeeves and Wooster, and nonstop news reports about cabinet resignations, election results and pop diva divorces.

This is what you're thinking as you stare at the hopeless wreck sitting in the middle of the road. You give the story a swift, parting kick. You turn to leave, but as you do, the wind picks up, blows dust in your face, and temporarily blinds you. Impulsively, you close your eyes. You look away.

The wind dies suddenly; you reopen your eyes and find yourself seeing the world through a film of dust. And through the film, your story doesn't look so bad. Well, that's not true. It still looks bad, but not hopelessly so. It can be fixed. You can fix it.

Reinvigorated, you pop the trunk and grab the only tools you'll need: the Car Jack of Optimism and the Duct Tape of Delusion. In no time, you reattach the right tire and transform your clunky, dull gray Yugo of a story into a sleek, chrome blue Yugo of a story that runs. (Ah, the magic of chrome blue duct tape.)

With a smug smile of satisfaction, you toss the jack and tape in the trunk, hop in the driver's seat, yelp as a coil spring breaks through the seat fabric and stings you in the bum, and happily (those are tears of joy welling up in your eyes) continue on your NaNoWriMo journey.

Half of the American people never read a newspaper. Half never vote for president. One hopes it is the same half. - Gore Vidal

Today is Election Day in the United States and it couldn't come a day too soon. Over the last month, I had developed a nasty itch only voting could scratch.

You see, I first contracted the itch a month ago, when various politicians started running ads on television with alarming frequency. The ads featured people running for elected offices one rarely hears about: insurance commissioner, attorney general, state controller, state masseuse.

Of course, the ads receiving the most airtime were those for the gubernatorial race. Arnold Schwarzenegger's camp ran disturbing commercials with music playing backwards and Arnold saying that, unlike his opponent, he would lead Caleeforneea forward.

Phil Angelides's camp ran even more disturbing commercials showing Arnold repeating those three words every Democrat hates: "I'll be back." "George W. Bush." Every time I saw it, I was instantly reminded of that maddening HeadOn commercial with its thrice-repeated catchphrase, "HeadOn. Apply directly to the forehead." I've seen the ad a hundred times and still don't know what HeadOn is for because I'm usually focused on other things, like applying my forehead directly to a wall.

Besides ads for politicians, the past month has been filled with a cacophony of commercials for or against numerous propositions. The most vocal and contentious battles were over Propositions 86 and 87. (Prop. 86 has to do with a cigarette tax. Prop. 87 deals with alternative energy.) Oftentimes, three or four opposing ads, usually featuring doctors, would run in a row. "Vote no on 86," said one doctor. "Vote yes on 86," said another. "No, vote no on 86," said a third.

If you're wondering why you have to wait so long to see your doctor, it's because he or she is busy pursuing a new career as a political mouthpiece. They weren't the only ones. Firefighters, police officers and teachers also placed their professional responsibilities on the backburner to jump into the proposition fray.

I thought the itch might fade if I went for a walk and got away from the clutter on the television, but as soon as I stepped outside, a clutter of campaign signs greeted me. The chain link fence they hung on was sagging under their collective weight. "Hi! Vote for me," said one sign. "No, vote for me," said another. "Lost cat," said a third, earning a glare from the first two. Instead of fading away, the itch only grew worse.

So, you can imagine the relief I felt when today finally arrived. The itch was so bad, I sped to my polling place first thing this morning. I got there just as the election officer was opening the doors.

To my surprise, I wasn't the first one there. Dozens of people, clearly suffering from the voting itch, stood in line ahead of me. Although I felt their pain, I couldn't wait my turn to vote. I wanted to be compassionate, but I wanted to scratch the itch more. In a moment of desperation, I did the first thing that came to mind.

I pointed and shouted, "Republican!"

They're such rare animals in this neck of the wilderness that my yell caused everybody in line to turn in the hopes of spotting one. Amidst the camera phone flashes and cries of "Where?" and "I'll gets that varmint!", I managed to get by most of the crowd and secure the fourth spot in line.

Anyway, after voting my itch away, I proudly wore the "I Voted" sticker they gave me. I made sure people on the train could see it while I read Nicole Richie's book for no other reason than to see them shudder and hear them exclaim to their neighbors, "Oh. My. God. He's reading that and they still let him vote? What is this country coming to?"

If you haven't already, scratch the itch and vote!

David Armand is one of four members of The Hollow Men, a sketch comedy group with their own show on Comedy Central. One of Armand's creations is a character named Johann Lippowitz, an interpretive dancer from Austria. I wanted to thank figure/field for pointing out this hilarious video of Lippowitz's interpretation of Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn" that he performed at Amnesty International's Secret Policeman's Ball. The dance is a crack up and brilliant.

The Top 5 things that made me laugh this weekend:

1. reading Big Money by P.G. Wodehouse.
2. catching sight of Nicole Richie's The Truth About Diamonds on the shelf at the bookstore. Curiosity may drive me to read it.
3. watching This is Spinal Tap.
4. seeing this duck at Target. I may just have to get one.
5. 1 vs. 100, the new game show on Friday nights hosted by Bob Saget. It's almost as hilarious as Deal or No Deal.

Song on my mind... "Hands Open" by Snow Patrol

It's not as easy as willing it all to be right
Got to be more than hoping it's right
I want to hear you laugh like you really mean it
Collapse into me tired with joy

I can't verify it, but I believe some of my best writing occurs when I'm listening to music. To help me this November, I've been listening almost exclusively to Snow Patrol, Corinne Bailey Rae and Haydn. The three combined create a mellow soundtrack that I can listen to for hours without tiring or getting distracted.

The name of this entry is the tentative name of my novel. It's French for "serials". My thought is to write a series of short stories, each focusing on a different character, but in each successive story, the reader will see connections developing between the characters. The more ridiculous or convoluted the connection, the better. The final story will draw the characters together in one major event. My ultimate hope is for it to be a parody of movies like Crash, Magnolia and Love Actually or television shows like Lost, The Nine, Six Degrees and Heroes, but right now, I'm drawing blanks.

I'm only six thousand words into the novel and I'm already in trouble. Actually, I was already in trouble six words in, but felt too much was invested to turn back, so I pressed on. I'm a little over a tenth of the way through the "story", in terms of word count, and the plot has twisted three times. Maybe I should change the name of the novel to something more appropriate - like Pretzel.

I didn't have time to mention it yesterday, but Halloween went well. Well, at least things started off well.

As soon as I got home, it took only a minute of scrounging through every kitchen cabinet to find something suitable to hold the candy I had intended on buying ten days earlier, but ended up buying ten minutes earlier. I quickly filled the salad spinner with four bags of fun size Snickers and Milky Way bars. Then I emptied the spinner into the pumpkin bucket after M reminded me we had purchased one last year for Halloween.

Inspired by the neighbors who had converted their driveway into a candy distribution center (complete with a fire pit, buffet table and camping chairs), I thought it would be neat to have our own candy outpost. I dragged out two outdoor chairs from the garage and a third chair from the dining room (for the candy) and set them up on the driveway.

We had been sitting there for less than a minute when the neighbors, who were trying to be neighborly, invited us over to have some of their buffet. We weren't hungry, but to not to be out-neighbored, we wandered over to chat. Unfortunately, my neighborliness caused me to accidentally leave the candy unattended.

Three minutes into the conversation, off the coast of my vision, I spotted four pirates, who happened to be dressed as pirates, come ashore and breach the nonexistent fortifications of the candy outpost. They quickly discovered the unguarded pumpkin bucket sitting in plain sight and set about plundering it.

In fact, they were in mid-plunder when I said to them in a strong, yet neighborly voice, "Hey! How about taking a few pieces each and leaving the bucket, okay?" It sounds wimpy written down, but trust me, said aloud, it only sounded half as wimpy.

One of the buccaneers, the one running in the opposite direction with the bucket tucked neatly under her arm, pretended not to hear me, but stopped short when one of her shipmates, a stocky fellow who wore an eye patch and carried a cutlass, exclaimed, "Aye! Ashley! Leave the pumpkin! There be plenty of ports with booty to loot, pillage and sack." His brief, yet moving speech gave me pause as I wondered if I had misheard him in the chaos of the moment or if somebody in the neighborhood had stolen my idea for HalloWriMo treats.

Anyway, Ashley gave a frustrated, yet hearty "Arrr!" and returned the bucket. She was just about to depart when, in a final act befitting a brigand, she ruthlessly grabbed one last handful of chocolate bars before casting off.

I soon regained my wits and reclaimed the bucket, which I happily discovered wasn't empty like I feared. Only a quarter of the candy had been swiped. Thankfully, the rest of the evening was less eventful. We had a wide variety of characters visit and ask us for candy. Some asked nicely, some too shy to speak pleaded with their eyes and a bold few brushed aside all formalities and simply helped themselves.

For my own amusement, I kept a mental inventory of the trick-or-treaters who came to our driveway. We had a horse, a farmer, a chicken, three babies with bottles, a lindy hopper, a Jedi Knight, two Batmen, a Barbie cheerleader, a Power Ranger, three Supermen, an undead football player, the Flash, a policeman, a firefighter, three Buzz Lightyears and one disturbing child dressed in a contamination suit.

There were plenty of others who visited; too many, in fact, because within an hour we were out of candy. After I gave away the last piece, we disassembled the outpost as quickly as we could and retreated to the safety of the house. The rest of the night was happily spent ignoring the doorbell, hiding in the living room (with the lights out and away from the front windows), enjoying dinner and watching DVDs.

Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo (which I'm officially doing) and NaBloPoMo (which I'm unofficially attempting). I heard about National Blog Posting Month from Elkit. The challenge is pretty straightforward: post at least one entry a day during November. I'm going to give it a try despite knowing full well that every word that appears here this month is one less word in my NaNo novel. At the end of this sentence, my novel-to-be will have a word deficit of 82.

As usual, I started my novel with no idea of what I wanted to write or how I was going to write it once I had an idea. Luckily, that technicality didn’t stop me from reaching my first day goal of 2,000 words. Below the fold is an excerpt from today's effort...