Super Sabado: the Dog Days of Summer

A guy walked up to me and my laptop and asked me if there was wireless available in the bookstore.

A simple “yes” or “no” answer would suffice for normal people, but as anybody who knows me will tell you, I’m not normal.

I love to offer my assistance, especially in bookstores. I’m one of those busybodies who’ll see you’re holding a Charlaine Harris book and immediately take off on a comparison of the Southern Vampire mysteries vs. the Aurora Teagarden cozies.

But this guy actually asked me for information, so I smiled and launched into a little monologue about how yes, there IS internet wireless here in the bookstore—in fact, there are TWO options, AT&TWifi and TMobile, and for my money AT&TWifi is a better deal…

But then his eyes widened. He briefly stared in the general vicinity of my mouth—and then looked away.

Was there something on my teeth?

Something… visible?

By the time I’d gotten to the part about how AT&TWifi only costs two bucks a month for SBC customers, I was mumbling and he was studying the coffee stain in the carpet at our feet, so I left out the part about download speeds. I wrapped it up, he said thank you and left, and I grabbed my laptop and ran to the ladies room.

So. If you were in the Barnes & Noble in Encinitas this Saturday afternoon, and there was a woman offering perfect strangers her reasons as to why she prefers Asimov‘s magazine to Analog, and she had a big ole’ piece of blueberry on her teeth—well, that was me.

I haven’t written much this week. I don’t know why, except it’s the end of summer, school’s about to start, and I’ve got lots to do. Today’s Super Sabado is proof that I’m not alone in my ennui, because many in the blogosphere seem to be going through the same thing.

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Miss Snark is closing up for a couple days

She’s going to float in a sensory deprivation tank of gin.
She’s going corral the Crapometer at Coney Island.
She’s going to Lake Como in Italia to stalk her beloved.

Items on Miss Snark‘s End of Summer To Do list, and lordy, why can’t our day planners ever list stuff like this?

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Planned on doing loads of writing on Saturday afternoon. Then Gheri got stung by a big, black ant. Besides comforting her all afternoon (she cries, non-stop), I had to declare jihad on all ants. Slaughter isn’t good for creativity.

Pat Kirby of Prickly Pear Wine. Oh, ho… so it’s the old, “Can’t write—got do some wholesale annihilation of a few ant hills first” excuse, is it?

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I wrote like a demon all the beggining of the month, then kerplunk. . . 28,000 words later and I got stuck. All the flow was diverted to a trickle and I lost interest, not completely but it weren’t coming easy and I had to do something else . . . so . . . I sewed.

Dennie of Dennie’s Thoughts. Sewing is good, but we find that mass quantities of Ben and Jerry’s is a more enjoyable way to spend times like these.

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And a bit later, while wandering aimlessly through a craft store with the chilling words still ringing in my ears, I found out that it takes only two seconds for tears to start streaming down my face when I realize that I will never have enough time with my family, that this life is unbearably short, and that I’ll absolutely never get those d*mn scrapbooks done.

TC of Fish in My Hair, whose got a much better reason than we do for not attending to our blogs.

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If my nephew wants me to be Paula Abdul for a day, then I’ll be Paula Abdul for a day — without worrying about why he chose me to play the ditz and what others may think. Besides, it could have been worse. He could have asked me to be Simon Cowell.

Our favorite Sideways Chica, Teri Gray Franta, on her recent appointment as a judge to her nephew’s American Idol theme party.

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Behold! He’s in jeans for the first time! Jeans that completely unbutton all along the inside of the legs, but still!

Jon of Letters to Myself, on his firstborn’s recent move up the wardrobe scale.

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But the strange lady who stared at me on Oxford Street and said, out of the blue, “That’s remarkably wild hair. Haven’t you ever heard of conditioner?”.

Neil Gaiman, who wants everyone to know that he’s really not a scary leprechaun, although he may look like one on TV.

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I don’t know what it is but I get asked at least three times a week for directions to places. No matter where I am. I may have just arrived in a place and somebody could ask.

Gary of gpshewandotcom, who presumably uses conditioner and does not look like a scary leprechaun. Neil, take note.

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It seems he lost control of himself and chewed up some of the rare teddy bears they have there, one million dollars worth of teddy bears in fact. He even destroyed one that once belonged to Elvis.

Eat your heart out Mojo!

Mr. Grouchypants, neglecting to report that this heroic Doberman Pinscher actually saved the children’s museum from a dangerous teddy bear uprising—at least, that’s what Mojo assures us.

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My male pride bruised, I retorted that a man could just as easily cut a woman off, and she would be beggin’ for it just like a man would. She paused, then she simply looked at me with those gorgeous brown eyes, blinked, laughed, and replied “Yeah, right. You wanna try it?”

Craig of Nuclear Moose Candy, who obviously never read Lysistrata.

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I’ve come to the realization that my one flaw as a father so far isn’t anything that I do or don’t do as far as Marlie is concerned. It’s the fact that my “baby voice,” the one I use when talking to Marlie or any baby, sounds too much like Lady Elaine Fairchilde from Mister Rogers Neighborhood. You know, the odd looking woman that called everyone toots.

Jeff B. of Syntax of Things, formerly of San Diego, now of North Carolina, and who really does sound like Lady Elaine, only scarier.

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My blog has learned a new trick! This is in addition to its favorite Brigadoon trick where posts and archives disappear periodically only to mystically return LATER unbidden and of their own accord.

Dink of ink blog, who’s been busy keeping tabs on her blog.

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Oh and I have not mentioned any horrific dead grossness for quite sometime now…first there was the dead bat in the basement, then there was the dead possum that K flung at the trees and it bounced back at him, and NOW………….there is a dead bird in the yard, big and awkward looking like it had gotten shot down in mid flight. It is horrid and I want to barf. Especially when I came to find Auggie with his little nose sniffing it……….P.U.K.E.

Susan, of Church of Angst, who has yet to see the end of a recent wave of unexpected animal corpses.

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After sitting at my computer all through the week reading blogs, now it is the weekend, I will be able to relax and sit at my computer and read blogs for a change.

tl of the aptly-named Life Got Away. But what we want to know is: are you still stair stepping, tl?

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Little. Yellow. Different. Chinese.

Dana Y.T. Lin, of Dana’s Tea House, killing time with the Sloganizer.

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I told everyone to have a grand time and I set about my appointed task. Lo and behold, here comes Bosslady with a beer in her hand. And not just ANY beer.

A Guinness. A GUINNESS, people.

Lachlan, of My So-Called Blog, whose job perks include good beer and a cool boss.

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Maybe I’ll go sit outside the back deck and listen and watch. If all else fails, I’ll at least enjoy watching the dragonflies dart through the sprinkler.

Kristen of A-Mused Chaos, who had an odd choice of views this week: dragonflies or Belly Dump Planes.

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Next thing you know they’ll be going after Uranus.

Jaye of Jaye’s Blahg, a little disgruntled about Pluto’s recent demotion as a planet.

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As some of you know, I’m recently occupied fitting furniture and household goods from my mother’s Ohio home into my cozy California abode. Currently, the challenge is to integrate Mama’s seven decades of cookware into my forty. Do I really need two containers of probably defunct baking powder?

Georganna Hancock of Writers Edge, for whom the essence of one of life’s milestones seems encapsulated in baking supplies.

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I’ve still got one major hurdle to over come and that’s asking Mrs. LL if she’ll feed Mickey and the cats (hopefully she won’t feed Mickey to the cats) while I’m gone.

Wander of Wander’s World, who leaves us to worry about leaving Mickey alone with those cats.

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Like the kitchen clock will show 7:02 at the same time the cable television time is 7:02 and the bedroom alarm shows 7:02 and the clock in my car says 7:02 and the one in front of the bank shows 7:02…

It’s a small life goal, but it’s all mine.

M.G. Tarquini of Genre Neutral, whipping up some enthusiasm for a major technology upgrade.

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* I have a Uni exam in 10 days, i am so unprepaired, i hope my 2 assignments will be enough to pass me on this subject coz the exam is a lost cause!

Michelle of Justitia, who needs not only to do well on those 2 assignments, but who might consider introducing her instructor to Miss Snark’s gin tank—that should be good for at least one A.

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It seems I’ve just either been covered up with stuff to do since vacation, or I’m sleeping!

April of Desperate Writer. Yeah, April, that’s our excuse, too!

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I’ve moved. But I’ve no time to settle. In two days time I go galloping across the globe to follow his passion – photography.

Buffy, of Plain Simple English, about to end her twenties in a Really Big Adventure inspired by Gary Fong. Happy b-day, Buffy!

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At least this one isn’t a long list of things, this one is succinct and simple: When did I start writing? No worries, I can answer that…

Savannah Jordan of Nothing This Pretty Can Be Real, filling up time with a meme.

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With new writers desperately seeking an “edge,” the quality of the product somehow got lost in the kerfuffle. So did the question of productivity.
Don’t ask, don’t tell, works for me, whether the writer is 19 or 99; but the important consideration remains – can the writer produce more than one opus? Agents want staying strength. A writer’s age is only one factor in deducing that result.

Bernita Harris of An Innocent A-Blog, wondering if writing well is good enough nowadays.

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She goes to the Bank Manager’s office with the pink elephant and when she tells him the story of the frog and shows him the pink elephant she says:”He said I should give you this, but I don’t know what it is..?” And the Bank Manager says to her:

Bonnie of Bonnie Writes—and you’ll have to get the punchline from her blog, because we’re not telling.

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And for those of you who’ve stayed until the very end, here’s an “experiment” that just might lead the way to 4th of July fireworks displays made completely out of Diet Coke and Mentos. Via Gary