Random File Time

Back in the innocent days when I began this blog, I would sometimes post random files from the neglected scrap heap that is my "My Documents" folder.

Older and wiser, but still hoping for some good,-old-fashioned public humiliation, I will thus try the experiment again.

[Clay picks the file. He purses his lips.]

Hmm. The document seems to be from my sophomore year of college. It's a translation from my second-year Latin class. I have no idea if it's my translation or transcribed from somewhere. It's from the Aeneid, I think. Or it could be from some Latin workbook.

Whatever the case, it's full of multisyllabic, myth-laden names. "Enjoy."

I.

Greece waged war against Troy;
The tenth year they took Troy prisoner.
Many Trojans fled from Asia,
After many labors they came into Italy:
Of these the leader is Aeneas, son of Veneris.
There the Trojans disembarked,
And plundered cattle from the fields.
Latinus, king of those lands, joined battle with the Trojan troops:
By battle Aeneas is victorious, and makes peace:
Then he gives his daughter Lavinium to Aeneas in marriage.
The Trojans found a city:
Aeneas calls it after the name of his wife, Lavinium.

II.

After the death of Aeneas, Ascanius the son ruled.
This man relinquished to his mother Lavinium, rich city;
This town was named Abla Longa.
After the death of Ascanius, Silvius ruled.
After Silvium, many kings ruled.
At great length, Procas was made king,
The father of Numitori and Amulius.
Numitori, who was eldest, was chosen King by Procas.

III.

Twin sons, it is said, were to Reae Silvia and the god Mars.
Amulius, angry and alarmed, orders Silvia to be bound,
And the infants to be thrown into the river.
By chance the river flooded its banks:
And so men were not able to approach the river.
They arranged to expose the infants in the nearest pool.
A basket, in which the infants were exposed,
Floated hither and thither.
Soon, nevertheless, the river receded within its banks,
And the basket was left on the dry bank.
After that, a thirsty wolf approached form the hills,
And heard the crying of the twins.
The wolf approached and the infants suckled,
She licking them with her tongue.
Faustulus, master of the royal stock,
Found the wolf with the infants.
Faustulus brings them home
And gives them to his wife Larentiae.
Thus the twins were raised by shepherds.

Brace Yourselves

I've started an alarming new trend with my diary.

I'm not writing it in cursive anymore. Print all the way, babe.

More on this exciting information as it develops, Chuck.

Diet Pepsi Ingredient of the Day

Phosphoric acid.

Milestone of Sorts

My other blog, Verse A Day, hit the three-month mark yesterday. I'm proud of the little booger. I didn't expect it to do much of anything, but the site has become part of my daily routine. I look through my notebooks for some lines to revise and post, or I go into a deep creative funk and produce a poem on the spot.

Whatever the case, there really is a verse a day up there. OK, so a few times I've been on the wrong side of midnight. But the poems are all there and mostly on time.

My task right now is printing out those poems and taking a critical look at them, with an eye toward sending them somewhere or to someone. What happens after that depends on where or to whom they're sent. I could twist my grammar into even tighter knots, but I guess I'll ahead while I'm quit.

Mr. Dylan Also Sez:

"One look at you
And I'm out of control.
Like the universe
Has swallowed me whole."

Mr. Dylan Sez:

"You may be a state trooper
You might be a young Turk
You might be the head of some big TV network"

But he says you're still going to have to serve somebody. Hmm.

Where Are We Now?

Three days since the last entry to this blog, that's where.

So what have I been doing?

Going back to work. The week off whizzed by, but once I returned to the office, it felt as though I'd been gone for months. Seeing folks nearly every day creates a certain workplace intimacy. You've all been through the same heckish days and have horror stories aplenty to share.

But I was gone. And I didn't know the stories. I'm having to learn the new ones.

I Decline

Mr. Will has started a copy editing blog. As this blog was originally intended to be something of the sort (before being sidetracked by the miscellany that is my mind rationed out in paragraph-sized bits), I thought I'd add some of my own recent gripes. Please direct any criticism of my opinions to Will. It's all his fault.

Newspaper writers to often lean on tired, stereotypical language.

An annoyance to me is using the word “decline” to mean “refuse” or “wouldn’t.” The usage will be familiar to anyone who has read a news article about police or politicians.

“The detective declined comment about the allegations.”

“The governor’s aides declined to elaborate on his remarks.”

In both of these cases, “decline” is used to soften the blow. There is something wanly elegant suggested, as if a hack politician’s aides told the reporter: “Sorry, old chap, but I have to decline to answer your frightfully on-point query.”

But people don’t often talk that way, and they certainly don’t talk that way to nosy reporters. The aides probably said “no comment,” or “are you out of your bleepin’ mind? I’m not answering that!”

These people are refusing our requests. They are turning down reporter’s questions. They don’t want to tell readers what’s going on. Don’t let them hide behind the fussy verb “decline.” Tell it like it is:

“The detective wouldn’t comment on the allegation.”

“The governor’s aides refused to elaborate on his remarks.”

Overheard on the Copy Desk pt. 364

"This is a place that spawns champions, not where champions spawn, right?"

House Guest

My friend James is visiting this weekend from Chicago. Last night, we offered him a sparkling glimpse of St. Petersburg's exotic and exciting nightlife. Today, he'll have the opportunity to sample from the full buffet of Floridian experiences. Or at least a partial buffet.

Look, he'll do some stuff, all right?

Let's Hope He Doesn't Go into Government

Courtesy of the folks at the Urban Legends Reference Page, here's an e-mail from a legislative intern. What makes it unusual? The writer was fired because of it, for one thing. And it's about the meanest missive you'll read this year.

The spelling and grammar has not been corrected. I've split up some longer paragraphs, though, simply to make reading easier. Take a look.

"From: Kelly Tripplehorn
Sent: Tuesday, June 03, 2003 2:11 PM
Subject: you suck

"Well, as of this afternoon, I was planning on ruining your career by making phone calls to all of my parents friends and have you blackballed from the workplace as well as every prestigous law school in the country, but then (lucky for you) I decided not to do that because you are a sad sad person and I will just let your life self destruct right before my eyes.

"Michele I am sorry, I don't care how big of sadistic fucked up crush you have on me but people like me simple don't date people like you. You are too competitive with me and you just simply will never be better than me. I will always have more friends than you just because I don't care about beating people and lying to get to the top. (You are an absolute hipocrit in everything that you do, I am not going to go into details why you are because that would be a waste of my time and yours but I can assure you if you were to ever meet yourself you would hate your twin)

"I have told most all of the staff about our situation now and they already knew you were really messed you. They said when you were talking to them about me, they all told me you had 'serious issues' and that every word you said sounded scripted and they knew without a doubt that you were lying. I have noticed that people who you think are your good friends actually really dislike you but unlike me, they will not tell you to your face because they would rather be fake nice to you than be your enemy.

"Now talking about how I am obsessed with money, I simply am not. You are. You always are trying to impress me by how much money you have and I don't care. The difference is though I talk about it but it is never about bragging and it is never directly about money, it is always directly about the conversation. For instance, someone will ask, what are you doing for july 4rth. And then I will say I am going to aspen. It is a simple fact that I am but since you don't have a house in aspen, you get offended because of your competitive nature. When you talk about money you will say something like UT's tuition is 5% of your family's income, thus my tuition would be 125,000. Yea, Michele you are right, I brag too much about what I have.

"Well I am just going to stop writing because you are just absolutely beneath me. I have heard that you try to undermine people all the time that are better than you and everysingle time it does not work because people can see through such shallowness and that is why as I have heard so many times, Most "everyone at UT absolutely hates you." For instance even the people that you thought were your friends Mellissa Mahaffey or that girl you met at espn, they hate you, they just never say anything. Everyone knows you are a pathetic social climber who will go to any discusting means to move up the ladder. But guess what Michele, you will never move up the ladder because I am at the top and people like me hate people like you. You might be able to trick people like me for maybe a month or so but your true personality comes through after a while and it is vile, if that.

"You have sooooo many people that absolutely hate you and you will never know it because they will never say anything to your face. You will not succeed in life and even the staff thinks that also, after I told them about the things that you do. You suck and good luck being miserable for the rest of your life. I do not even know why I wasted my time typing this for suck slime. Everyone tells me that you are so beneath me (which you are) and I should not get worked up over suck trifles. By the end of the day if I wanted to, I could make a phone call and have your life absolutely ruined but there is no need because you are falling fast enough towards failure without me. In the end, all I can say is that people love me and people hate you. You should observe me and take a few notes on how to make real friends. Other than you tieing this one other person, I have never had such little respect for a human being in my life. I don't even have to tell you why because in my very accurate analysis that most everyone else agrees with, if you were to agree with my analyis about your character than my whole entire analysis would be wrong.

"Your inflamed ego has left you so blind and so impotent that you can nto even recognize the most obvious flaws in yourself. All your old roommates absolutely hated you and you still think the problem is with them, not you. Well I talked to your roommates and I thought they nice normal girls. So naturally, you would not fit in with them because you are so intellectually above them all. Right? You suck at life and you need to figure out why or you will be miserable for the rest of your life.

"Once again from your intellectual, moral, social, and emotional superior,
Paul Kelly Tripplehorn, Jr. "

The girl complained and the boy was booted out of Kay Bailey Hutchinson's office. Does someone sound a wee bit insecure?

Read more about the sordid story.

The Insatiable Public

They want more.

They beg that I add more words to this blog.

Yet, alas, I am but one weary soul. And a silly one, at that.

More soon.

Incidents of Interest

Highlights of today:

Mother dearest purchased a pair of sandals and two shirts for me. One of the shirts features everyone's favorite videogame Italian-American stereotype, Mario.

Saw "Pirates of the Caribbean." It's a fun, frolicking movie. Arrr!

Introduced my sister to a bewildering array of computer and N64 games.

Being home has a comfortable aspect to it, I admit.

Putting It in Perspective

Heat-related annoyance aside, I've had a semi-startling realization in the last couple of days.

I'm pretty happy.

Now, I'm not at exactly the perfect job, and it's not in exactly the perfect place. But I am, by and large, content. I'm doing work that I enjoy with people I respect. I have friends, though perhaps not as many or as close as I would like. And I have a person I care about.

These things are what it's all about. If I kicked the bucket in some unexpected way tomorrow, it would surely suck. I still have a lot I want to accomplish. But I would still accept it. Because I've achieved more than I thought I could. And I've done things I never imagined.

And there is love all around me. It's easy for me to ignore it, or act all ironic, or just gripe. But that doesn't change the fact that it's there. And it doesn't change the fact that I need and appreciate every bit of it.

At Home

I'm in Kansas. In small-town Kansas, in the home where I spent eight years. I'm in my room, which has largely been changed by my father into a place for his assorted stuff.

There is no air conditioning here, which is making me cranky.

The S.O. is dealing with the dog at home. I miss him, and I wish I hadn't been so cranky when I talked to him. I well remember the week I spent with the dog, alone, while he was away. It makes one desparate for human companship and communication. Or silence.

But I'm making the best of it, I suppose.

We'll all be seeing Pirates of the Carribbean tomorrow. And I'm showing my sister many and varied computer games. And I might get some clothes and the like.

Then, once I return to home sweet St. Petersburg, it will time for James' visit. Eventually, I'll find my way back to work. I'll be ready for it when it comes, too.

Familial Quest

It sounds adventuresome, only it's not. No, I get to go home tomorrow for the first time in half a year. Goodness knows what kind of excitement and thrills await me there.

It's true, the Kansas trip is the beginning of a week of quality vacation time. Perhaps it will be wonderful beyond all imagining. I'll let you know.

I Continue Breathing

A hi to the folks who are reading. I mean to e-mail you all, but things have been busy/crazy.

I was out buying stuff for the apartment today. I was running the dog through her paces. And I finally finished watching "Minority Report." I thought it let down a little bit toward the end -- one plot twist too many. But it was still impressive work, esp. for the oft-belittled Mr. Speilberg.

Coming up for Air

After that whole long thing from Sunday ...

Watching "Minority Report" on my computer. It's really shockingly good. I didn't think Stevie Spielberg still had it in him.

He basically takes everything George Lucas did wrong in the recent "Star Wars" sagas and does it precisely right. A story sheathed in special effects, true. But it's most importantly a story.

Longest Entry So Far

The house is quiet today. I plan to make up for that by posting my longest single entry to this blog -- up to today. Who knows. Some pressing matter might require gargantuan space in the future.

Part One -- Clay Outlines His Self-Referential Aims

I'm going to be adding to the post over time, and publishing at intervals. I realize that somehow violates the sanctity of the single post, the single long post, but I can't risk losing the entire thing because my browser has been inactive for too long, or something trivial like that.

I also don't want to compose the entry in Word, because that's lame. Actually, so is the entire concept, but why should I let that stop me?

Am currently reading a story about something vague and financial. It involves development funds. I'd say that since I started my life in journalism, about a third of everything I've read has involved development in suburban communities and related craziness.

I'm sure these sorts of things matter to the folks who live next door to "The Oaks at Wingate," or whatever unimaginative name is affixed to a building project. And newspapers do them a service with comprehensive coverage of such sprawl. But otherwise ...

Part Two -- Clay Muses on the Cosmic Importance of Receipts

Pay no attention to the "Parts" dividers. They serve no purpose other than breaking up the trail o' text.

Oh my God. The vague and financial story included the term "millage." Pardon me while I fall asleep.
[Clay makes faint burbling sounds and has a pleasant dream about Pokemon.]

OK, done with that. Next step: Caffiene.

Mmmmm. Nothing like a liter of lightly chilled Diet Mountain Dew. That should get me mildly excited for the evening's activities. Oh, I haven't finished the liter yet. No sir. I've only just started. It should last me for the next hour or so.

I've started drinking these liter-sized jugs o' drink all the time. At one point, I was ingesting way too much caffeine. I would have two or three of the liter jugs, topped off with some 20-ounces, a can or two, and a shot of Diet Red Bull. It pretty much turned me into a shaking, stuttering wreck.

I've cut back, but I'm still drinking the liters. They mean I don't have to visit the drink machine that often (except in awakeness emergencies).

Part Three -- Clay Travels to Ancient Egypt

The books on my desk:

Florida Almanac 2002-2003
The Synonym Finder
Lapsing Into a Comma -- Bill Walsh
The New York Times Almanac 2003
The Careful Writer: A Modern Guide to English Usage -- Theodore M. Bernstein
Words on Words -- John B. Bremner
The Associated Press Stylebook -- 2001
The Associated Press Stylebook -- 1977
The Copy-Editing and Headline Handbook -- Barbara G. Ellis
Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 10th Edition
Webster's New World Dictionary, 4th Edition

Part Four -- A Scandal In Bohemia

So you're asking at this point (as is some dark, frothing part of my brain), why even bother with this? It's clear you're just stringing together what would be a bunch of separate posts on any other day.

And I respond (as does some sunnier, more drug-affected part of my brain) that I'll do what I want. Thanks.

I still don't understand my phone at work, though.

I was given a poorly photocopied sheet of instructions when I started at the Tampa Bay area daily newspaper, and I suppose the expectation was that the poorly photocopied sheet of instructions would give me all the information I needed to work the phone. Which they didn't and they don't.

They're still there under the phone, over the bay, taunting me as I sit here at home, insinuating I'm not enough of a man to comprehend their poorly photocopied truths. They may taunt me, but I will not rise to their bait. I will not allow poorly photocopied directions to run my life. Nossir.

Yet the phone persists. It still has a greeting from the previous person to have my number. Sometimes, people leave me messages. I can't listen to them, of course, because they're in this previous person's voice mailbox. The little red light on the phone telling me I have a message is still lit, though.

It will stay lit for several days, then go out. The message will float off into the ether. And I will be happy.

Part Five -- An Investigation into the Medicinal Qualities of Herb Extracts

It's about 8 p.m.. In a bit, I'll start my evening rounds of the neighborhood. But before then, some random comments:

The dog chewed up my cell phone antenna a couple of weeks ago. I have restored it with tape. It does not look just like new. It does not look new at all. It looks as though I have wrapped tape around my cell phone antenna.

I have created an anthropomorphic copy editing mascot named Prickly, the copy editing porcupine. He will shortly star in his own Saturday-morning cartoon show on the WB.

Meat Loaf as a dish is much less overwrought than the singer.

I have always sort of wanted to ride in a hot air balloon. It seems as though it would be neat.

Part Six -- Paradise by the Dashboard Light

Things have been busy today. I intended to devote far more time to this monumental post. However, that seems like so many good intentions, pipe dreams, and other such cliches right now.

I'll include some more random observations to finish it all up:

Who is this guy, and why should I care?

Stress is good food.

I always liked the Transformers. There's more than meets the eye with them, you know. Plus, their movie had Eric Idle and Orson Welles in it.

Subjectivity and objectivity are both pretty boring.

I believe in plastic.

Part Seven -- Clay and the Wizard in Oz

So was this all worth it, in the end?

You know, when you add up the columns of little numbers and see what result they give you. Did the conceit pan out? Was the result truly a product of the effort?

Admittedly, my long-form prose work varies. This is from a guy who wrote a novel when he was in middle school. It's true. I did write a novel when I was in middle school. But it wasn't overly gripping.

An excerpt:

"Pete sat at his desk, feeling nervous. Today was the day he was supposed to trip Kimberly. He didn’t know why he was mixed up in all of this, but he really wanted out. How could he leave it, though?

"Jeremy appeared in the classroom doorway and walked towards Pete. Pete glanced around, hoping a trap door would suddenly open up and he could escape through it. No trap door opened.

"Jeremy stood next to him now. Pete looked up and smiled weakly. Jeremy gave a small, cold grin. “In four minutes,” he said, “you’ll be by the water fountain. Eventually Kimberly will walk by on her was to class, and you’ll trip her. Got it?”

"Pete began to change. The doubt that had collected inside him for days changed to anger, anger that Jeremy tried to control him like this."

Yeah. So.

Maybe this whole "longest blog thing ever" thing was a mistake.

But perhaps it was a brilliant meta-blog thing thing.

It's all a mystery. In the end.

You know.

If You Can Spare a Quarter ...

Go to Scott McCloud's site and read part one of his new online graphic novel, The Right Number.

Mr. McCloud has written and drawn a couple of concise, intelligent books explaining comics as an art form. He believes the future of the medium is online, and has devoted a lot of time to his site and putting various comics up there. They're all free, and I urge you to look at them too.

One of Mr. McCloud's dreams has been effective micropayments online. That is, you could quickly and easily spend a quarter or some other tiny amount to access a piece of creative work. The reasoning is, of course, that such a system would reward the creator with instant income and the surfer with low-cost fun.

For whatever reason, micropayments have been slow in arriving. But Mr. McCloud has found such a system for this new work, and I urge you to try it. It helps to have a Paypal account. You pay a few bucks into a micropayment stash, which then can be doled out to individual projects.

Not sure if the explanation makes sense, and it's all a bit long-winded, but the concept interests me. The point is, though, The Right Number is an intelligent, slickly drawn comic. And there are two more parts to come.

Check it out.