February Sweeps - Day 393

So, the month has ended.  I even got one fewer day than last year.

Last night, it was just me and my sister's dog at the house, so I really should have recorded hours and hours of audio.  But instead, I watched television ("Saturday Night Live" was among its least-inspired) and ate (way too much) instead of doing anything productive.  And when my life is over, and that particular use of my time is reshown to me, I will most assuredly throw up.

Sit-ups Today: 111
Sit-ups In February: 2951

Since it was the last day of the month, I had to get my hike in, even though it was in the low thirties outside.  I intended to do the climb I normally do here in town, since it's closer than others, but then got the idea to hike up to the falls three towns up, where I went once last spring and watched people rappelling down.

A couple of light snowflakes were falling as I drove to the mouth of a canyon, and before I could even get out of my car, I saw other hikers--all of them young, most of them couples--there to do the exact same thing.

I noticed the first pair had something metal they were putting on their shoes, but they were speaking German (might have been Dutch), so I didn't dare bother them about it.  But a moment later, a dude got out of his truck, and he had them also.  They were like the chains you put on your tires when you live in the Rocky Mountains or Alaska.  I had no such accoutrements, so I asked him if I was going to be alright.

He said, "You'll do fine.  Unless there's way more snow than the last time I was here."

So, I set off, taking off my coat so that I wouldn't get all sweaty.  I turned on a podcast (a Tim Pratt story I hadn't heard before), and started climbing.  It was cold, and I wished I had thought to put on some gloves, but I remembered what my dad would say when I'd be cold shoveling the walk.  He'd say, "Work harder, and you'll stay warm."

Up the hill I went, as the German couple ahead of me left me far behind.  I couldn't keep up with them, and soon, the gray gravel on the trail began to disappear under white snow.

So, here's the bottom of the trail:

And here's a little while up the trail:

Soon, there was snow, and lots of it.  I began to look around me for a branch I could grab to use as a walking stick, but everything already dead was buried under snow.  My feet started to slip, and I went up another block or so, starting to worry about how well I would do coming back down.  I encountered a young couple coming down with their dog (the dog showed me more attention than any of the people did) and asked them how hard it was.  "Uh, pretty hard, we had to slide down a couple spots on our butts."

So, I stopped.  I had been unprepared for a challenge like this, mostly because I had left things to the last minute.

Not exactly a smile there.

I turned around, and sure enough, I was already slipping and sliding like a cartoon character, and chose to walk up at the base of the mountain where it was rockier and more overgrown instead of the trail, because it was steep enough that, were I to fall . . . I would simply slide down the hill, or to my right, into the mostly-frozen river.  Heh.

I encountered another, different couple, also out walking their dog, but going up, and they asked how the falls had looked.  I admitted that I hadn't made it to the falls, and the husband/boyfriend said to his companion, "Thank God I have you, honey."  "Yeah," she said, "I'd hate to be like that guy."

Ah well.  I managed to get back down to the gravel without killing myself, and then wandered around the various walking trails by the parking lot, before getting in my car and heading back home.

Later that night, I did go on my usual run (normally, on a hike day, I'd forgo the jogging, since I'd have gotten plenty of exercise climbing up and and down a mountain), and finished the podcast.  I am still going to count this as a hike, though I hope I can do better next month.

Push-ups Today: 141
Push-ups In February: 2701 (so close to my sit-up numbers.  I predict March will be the month where I do more push-ups than sit ups.  And burp more than I fart)

On Saturday, I looked at my original notes (from 2018) for my Ben Parks story "A Sidekick's Errand," and found a pretty wonderful joke there that made me laugh enough that I thought I should sit down and work it into the story before I put it out there.  I wrote up the joke, and also a scene that set it up, and then recorded both bits and took the time to edit them into the audio file, and by then, the day was done.  Sunday nights tend to be when I list a great deal of items for sale, and since it was the last Sunday of the month, I only had a few paid-for listings left, and was able to quit after reaching that quantity (it was sixty-five this time).

I could have written more, I realize that, and I did take a few minutes to jot down an idea for another "Dead & Breakfast" story right before I went to sleep.  And I was tired enough that, I have pretty much no memory of that story or how it was supposed to turn out.  Maybe I'll write it, maybe I won't, but it's good to have more projects to tackle if I stay ambitious.

Somehow, the month is over, and I haven't done my Patreon address (where I set out my goals for the next month).  Can I press pause on life for an hour or two?

Words Today: 501
Words in February: 20,141

My Voice on Journey Into . . .

Marshal Latham has finally started running his Journey Into Journey story contest winners on his Journey Into... podcast.  It was the super-fun contest where he assigned everyone the title of a Journey song, and we all had to write a story inspired by it.  Mine was called "Troubled Child," and the story itself is not super-fun.

However, on his show this week, he's presenting "Chain Reaction" by Sam McDonald, and it's an amazing array of voice talent on this one.  In addition to yours truly and Marshal, he's got Big Anklevich, Bria Burton, Dave Robison, Tena Kolokowski, and Anne B. Davis as Alice.  And as for the narrator, he's saddled the wild stallion of podcasting, Norm Sherman.

Check it out HERE.

February Sweeps - Day 392

I still feel pretty weak and cowardly about yesterday's not-even-half-assed attempt at rollerblading.  Part of it is that I spent money I shouldn't have on the darn things*, but the other part is being so afraid of getting hurt and/or looking foolish and unathletic in front of people.  That shouldn't be that big a thing, since I've been unathletic since Reagan was in the White House, and pain is supposed to be a friend to the exerciser.

Apparently, there's a right way and a wrong way to fall whilst rollerblading.  There are instruction videos on YouTube (one of which I started watching, then considered taking a bunch of sleeping pills instead), including just generic how-you-move-forward-on-skates tutorials.

I had to go to Walmart to get some cash today anyway (to buy Skeletor . . . yeah, I have a problem), so I checked in the bicycle helmet aisle, and there were three different options for elbow and knee pads.  I bought the set that looked like I could most easily convince a neighbor it was for an S&M gimp cosplay, and made my purchase.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 2840

I should have got it all together and driven somewhere to try out the rollerblading again, but I went to the library instead.  Part of it is surely cowardice, but the other part is this stupid goal to write every day.  A year ago, I was averaging well over a thousand words a day, and often two (I checked last year's blog post, and I had written the Sheriff Murtry and Deputy Anglesworth scene in "A Sidekick's Errand," and the scene where the two bros at the ski cabin talk about unwed mothers in "Winter Break."  That seems like three months ago, despite 2020 being the longest year of the century for me too), and now, if I manage four hundred words I congratulate myself.

It's starting to snow outside, and the sky is the dull grey of a Cardassian supermodel.  

Maybe I should've gone to the park instead.  I have one more day to go on a hike to accomplish my monthly hike goal, and it's supposed to be sunny, but cold.

Push-ups Today: 20 (whoops.  I paused when I typed this and went into the other room to do some more . . . and then I forgot what I was there for, turned out the lights, and went to bed.  Sorry)
Push-ups In February: 2560

After the library, there was still a bit of light left, so I did go to the park and put on my kneepads, wristguards, and rollerblades (this took a good long time, but I hadn't realized they were held on with velcro, so I'd tried slipping the kneepads up over my feet and pantlegs and putting the wristguards on like gloves).  I got out of my car, made my slow, painstaking way to the back, and tried to move forward.  

It was like watching a middle-aged baby take its first steps, only not nearly as cute.  I tried to keep my knees bent like the YouTube tutorial instructed, and moved at approximately one mile an hour forward, shakily turning, then rolling back to the car.  Immediately, I proclaimed myself done and pulled myself (with my arm) back around to the driver's side.

But that was approximately how long it had taken me to get into the rollerblades and armor, so I forced myself to do it again, push away from the car, and move into the parking lot, try to roll around, and back to the car.  Despite having run a hundred miles this year, it really hurt my leg muscles just to get moving forward, and to call my performance pathetic would undersell it.

I feel almost heartbreakingly sad right now, typing up this sorry report.  But I did better on Day 2 than I did on Day 1, and if I could just make myself do it again and again, maybe I would overcome this timidity and get, if not good, at least less embarrassingly bad.  And get my money's worth.  So, one of my goals for March will be to practice on my rollerblades TEN times.

And I didn't fall down, despite having watched the tutorial on how to properly do so.  Something to "look forward" to.

Words Today: 1208
Words in February: 19,640

*Every other time I've looked, like at a Target or Walmart or discount store, the rollerblades and skates I see for sale are for children, or if they're for adults, they're for adult women.  It seemed that, with the sporting goods store that was in the building where I worked in community college closing, that I'd have to go online to find skates in my size . . . and that's no impulse buy.  But actually seeing them in a store, right there in front of me, well, I couldn't resist.

Storage Unit Serenade 43

The lake looks almost frozen behind me . . . as does the look of horror on your face.

Stats

Pre-Eighties Songs: 9
Eighties Songs: 14
Nineties Songs: 10
Aughts Songs: 3
Teens Songs: 7  

February Sweeps - Day 391

I saw a pair of rollerblades for sale the other day (in my size), and got it in my head that I would buy them.  It was that or buy a hideously overpriced Skeletor figure from the Masters of the Universe Classics series (that I used to have ten of, long before they quadrupled in price).

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 2740

My story "Hatchling" was deliberately set in the same Arizona town (Trueno) as my first novel "Into the Furnace" was, and though it doesn't really matter to the story, I liked that idea quite a bit, even having a street named after Will Ford, the sheriff in that book.  Like I said, it doesn't affect the story either way, but I just realized in writing the Ben Parks scene that Trueno, Arizona is the town where the Sidekick stories take place, not "Into the Furnace."  ITF takes place in Bendo's Furnace, New Mexico, which, if my geographical memory is correct, is a whole other state. 

Now, having not yet published "Hatchling," it's an easy mistake to fix.  But do I change the location from central Arizona to central New Mexico, just so the two or three references make sense?  Or do I somehow retcon "Into the Furnace" so that it takes place in the same town as the Ben Parks stories do?  After all, wouldn't Arizona have been known as New Mexico Territory in the nineteenth century?

I looked it up--INSTEAD OF WRITING--and it looks like Arizona was part of New Mexico Territory between 1848 and 1863, then it became its own territory (which it remained until--wow, 1912--when it became the State of Arizona.  Still, that sort of boneheaded mistake really bugs me because, well, I was the one who made up Trueno (which means Thunderclap) and Bendo's Furnace (which means . . . well, nothing.  Just a private joke).**

I guess I have to decide what to do, but it does bum me out.

I didn't feel like writing, but I always hit the library, and grabbed one of my notebooks so I could type up a story from it (that's like writing, isn't it?).  The story I chose was never titled, but referred to as "Ice Cream Droid," and took place on Outpost 3, where the ship in "Ten Thousand Coffins" is headed to.  I wrote it in 2018, immediately after "A Mark on the Sky,"*--which ends on the same page it begins.

It's a particularly nasty story (I'm pretty sure this would've been February 2017, since Fisher in "A Mark on the Sky" was named after Carrie Fisher, who died in December of '16), and the pandemic story I'm writing now makes an offhand reference to it.

Push-ups Today: 141
Push-ups In February: 2540

I came home from the library, the night having fallen, and remembered the rollerblades I had picked up, and was bummed I hadn't tried them a second day in a row.  I had it in my head that I could go to a shuttered business parking lot, or a church lot, or maybe to the park where the stairs are and try skating on the jogging track there.

But I was nervous about it.  I'd called Big Anklevich to tell him I'd bought them, and to ask if rollerblading was easier or harder than ice skating (which I've done but am not good at).  I mentioned my worry that I will fall on my face or butt or knees (which seems inevitable), and he asked me what I would do if I broke my wrist.  "You're getting older," he said, "sooner or later you're going to have to go to the hospital."  He also said I could buy a helmet and kneepads, and I thought, Well, why not just rent one of those plastic hamster ball bubbles while I'm at it?

But he's right.  I am constantly surprised that, despite doing thousands of push-ups a month, I am weaker today than I was five years ago.  Boxes that I used to be able to lift over my head with little strain now seem heavier than they should be, and despite (or perhaps because of) running every single night, I sometimes find going down stairs a little more difficult than it used to be.  And that, my friends, is terrifying.  Is my life on the way out already, despite not having ever lived?

With this in mind, and the chagrin of buying rollerblades when I shouldn't be wasting my money, I vowed to put them on and make an attempt.  As soon as I got home, though, I thought I'd try to at least go up and down the street on them, to get a feel for how using them would work.  I sat on the curb, took off my shoes, put on the rollerblades, and then asked my nine year old nephew to help me stand up.  I rolled approximately one foot before I realized I had no idea what I was doing, and without any railing or anything, was totally screwed.

I asked the boy to help me back to the sidewalk, where I plopped myself down again and took them off, having "rollerbladed" for less time than it took me to put the shoes on.

Sigh.

Words Today: 525
Words In February: 18,432

*Oh no, it's 2/18, but not February 2018,  but February 18th.  In looking closer, this was written between the seventeenth and twenty-first of February of 2017.

**There is a Plaza del Trueno in Catalina Foothills, Arizona, which, ironically enough, has a statue of a changeling from my "Calling" stories in it.  Okay, that's a lie, but what if it wasn't?

February Sweeps - Day 390

This will not amuse you, but it did amuse me (although maybe "horrify" is a better word).  I finished the first season of "Modern Family" last night, and turned the TV off after the episode was over, meaning to go do something constructive (maybe record, except I don't have space on my recorder, so I'd have to sit down and edit something so I could delete it from the recorder so I could then record), but then I changed my mind.

I think I'll watch the next episode, I said to myself, turning the TV back on and clicking on Season 11, Episode 1.  It only took about four seconds before I realized what I had done wrong, and it probably took you less time than that.  I recoiled: Holy shit, what had happened to the characters?  They had aged SO MUCH as to be one of those "Star Trek" episodes with a time anomaly.*  They all looked so weird, because, just five minutes earlier, they had been vibrant and youthful, living in Obama's first term.  And now . . .

Still, I felt like I had to keep watching, even knowing that I had skipped ten years in real time, because I just wanted to see how a decade had changed everybody.  

Okay, this is a bit of an exaggeration.

The show's format was exactly the same as it was, and everybody who was on the show in Season 1 was on it still (even Haley's dopey boyfriend was still there), but the kids were all adults, and the adults were all . . . more adult.  The two who had aged the most were Phil (Ty Burrell) and Cam (Eric Stonestreet), though Cam is heavy-set and that tends to hide your years pretty well.  I kept on watching--though I ended up muting the sound--just so I could see what Ed O'Neill had become, and he looked quite a bit the same, just a bit greyer.

Sit-ups Today: 111 (I really could've done more of these, but I got lazy later on that night)
Sit-ups In February: 2640

In other news, I'm continuing to try to publish something new every week or so, so you can check out "Murdertown - 1 Mile" if you'd like to, or the audio of "My Friend of Misery" is finally available, so that means I can put out my episode about it, which isn't quite old enough to stamp a "Lost Episode" intro on.

Push-ups Today: 50
Push-ups In February: 2399 

I didn't know what to write, but having edited on a Ben Parks story that afternoon, and remembering that Deputy Anglesworth's brother becomes the sheriff in town in a later story, I thought it would be interesting to find out what kind of a man he is.  So, I wrote a scene of Ben and the new sheriff, that would ostensibly fit in the story "Sins of a Sidekick," which is the one that follows "A Sidekick's Journey" (though I think one day, if I live long enough, I'd like to write an in-between tale of what Ben and Lorelei Skruggs do on their little outing together, only hinted at at the end of that novella).

I wish a lot of things, but one of the things I wish most of all (and I'm sure my parents wished it as they saw this negative trait in me over the years) is that I could stick with a project until it was done, and ONLY THEN move on to another project.  But I flit from flower to flower like a coked-out bumblebee, and I guess I'm fortunate that I finish one in three stories (and when I was a kid, it was more like one in ten).  That's a roundabout way of saying, I don't know if I'll ever use today's writing in anything, and I don't know if I'll ever write "Sins of a Sidekick," even though I've had it in my head for three or four years now.  

Could be longer, though I was looking in my notebook just now, and I wrote up notes for it as recently as 2020.

Anyway, this Ben Parks stuff is flowing really fast, and I wouldn't be surprised if I get a thousand words i--

Fuggers are flashing the lights right now, and it's making me angry enough to use the word "fuggers."**

Words Today: 1039
Words In February: 17,907

*Little bit of useless trivia for you: The episode "The Deadly Years" where the crew ages rapidly is the only episode of the original series where you can see Shatner without his toupee on.  In his second-to-oldest incarnation, Kirk has his natural hair, and then, in the next iteration--the oldest version--he's back to a wig.  I'm not sure if that's interesting to you, but . . .  No, wait, it's definitely not interesting to you.

**That word dates back to high school, when my friend Rhett would use it in an imitation of the kids from our rival town, which I call Miller's Fork in my stories.  They had a particularly loathsome country accent (and granted, it was only the most inbred and willfully-ignorant townsfolk, probably less than ten percent of the people there, but it was so shockingly ugly that it stood out whenever you heard it), and would cruise the main street of their town on weekend evenings hoping to find youths from our school--or indeed anybody--who would want to fight them.  Rhett would say, with delightful relish, "Wanna fight me, fugger?" and "I ain't fraid of you, fugger," which probably made me laugh every single time he said it.  I don't use it often, but I sure do love that word.

January Sweeps - Day 389

I realized today that, for twenty-four days in a row, I've been writing "January Sweeps" in my blog titles instead of February.  Don't go back and check--I fixed all but two.  Still, it makes me wonder what else I've been forgetting about.

Wait a minute, where are my pants?

Staying up super late last night may have been a mistake, as I felt both tired and unmotivated today.  

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 2529

In editing the audio (more than half done now) of "A Sidekick's Errand," I've discovered that I say the word "writer" and "rider" exactly the same way, which is problematic in a story where there is a (lean) Rider and a writer of dime novels.  Darn.

Still, I don't know if it's worth sitting down tonight and re-recording every instance of "writer" so that it sounds like "lighter" or "biter" instead of "hider" or "cider," but I'm sure it would make for a clearer story to the listener.  I hate it when, in an audiobook, there are two names that sound the same, because you don't have the text in front of you to see if it's Matt's or Mad's bicycle.

Push-ups Today: 140
Push-ups In February: 2349

I haven't put out a Storage Unit Serenade song in a while.  The next one in the rotation was the first one where I actually did "coverage," meaning more than one take of the song with different angles (basically, I was out in a field in the mountains as the sun was setting and I did one part of the song facing west, one facing east, one facing north--then I thought I could edit them together into one "cool" video).  The file was so big that I crashed the editing program opening them, oh, say, three times, and I never wanted to wade through them (I hate the video editing, mostly because I'm not good at it, but also because my desktop is so archaic that everything takes five times longer than it should), and I kept putting it off.

Finally, I decided to get through it yesterday, and buckled myself in for however long it took.  Unfortunately, I discovered that I had done one part of the song three times, and one part of the song . . . zero times.  So, I have three options:

1. Edit the video so it's only part of the song (which is doable, but meh).
2. Skip this song and go on to the next video (really the most adult and efficient solution).
3.  Go somewhere, set up my phone, and record the missing bit of the song in winter, knowing that it won't match up with what I did in July, but hey, maybe it'll be cool anyway.

I really ought to just do the third one, and the next time I have free time (and ambition), run out to the park or something and record the missing bit of the song.  I did that already with "Electric Blue," but that was because I forgot the lyrics in March, and when I edited it in May, it was easy to look them up and do that bit the next time I hit the storage unit.

Oh, and when I first started this, I would record a song nearly every time I went to the storage unit.  Now, it's just about one time in ten.  Although, I did go to my mom's storage unit a town south one time (I did a Cyndi Lauper song there), and I could probably do that again and it would at least be a private, different-looking environment.

Okay, I'll do that for either the next song or for my April Fool's song, which I've already picked out.  

Words Today: 791
Words In February: 16,868

February Sweeps - Day 388

ggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg

Got my car back today, and it wasn't as disastrous and my uncle feared.  One of the wires that attaches to the battery was broken or frayed, and that was preventing the engine from starting.  All in all, the repairs and towing cost less than the new battery I bought over the weekend.

That was nice.  As part of my writing last night, I looked over the sketch I wrote in the fall for Renee Chambliss and me to do, called "Tiking and Toking," basically an old person's horror at what teen girls do on TikTok (God bless 'em).  But I had abandoned it because it wasn't funny, just gross--talk of thirteen year olds shaking their passion fruits and showing off their thongs.

But I figured I could finish it if I could come up with an amusing twist at the end, and I basically had the wife and daughter find the dad disgusting for watching TikTok videos with his horny male coworkers.  I don't imagine I would dare ask Renee to do it with me (I tend to hold her in this celebrity-I-happen-to-know pedestal in my mind), but if it sounds amusing to you, let me know, and maybe you and I can do it together. 

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 2429

Buh.

Once again, I got so little work done, as far as writing goes.  On the bright side, the sun goes down a minute or so later each day, and that gives me one more minute of solace before the tear vampires come calling.  

I went to the library after having my mother take me to pick up my car (some things never change), but I managed very little writing.  Mostly, I grabbed the file of my novella "Hatchling," and tried to see what condition it was in.  Out of curiosity, I checked my emails to myself, and found two previous versions of "Hatchling" . . . that were different.  One had twenty-four thousand words and one had twenty-two, but both had sections the other one was lacking.  I realized it would take some serious concentration to get my three files sorted out . . . and then the library started flashing its lights.

I drove home and did both my sit-ups and my run, then headed south to meet my cousin so we could get dinner (a restaurant in his town now has dine-in options AND his niece works there, so we made it a point to get together earlier than we usually do).  

We got to the point in watching "Seinfeld" together where the character of Puddy starts to show up.  I've complained endlessly to my cousin about my burning hatred of Patrick Warburton, and he asked me (as he always does) why I hate him so.  

Honestly, it's been a part of me for so long that I no longer even recollect why I so despise the man.  It could be his voice.  It could be the way he looks.  It could be the time when I was eleven and he drowned my little brother at the Winnetka Recreation Center.

Push-ups Today: 55
Push-ups In February: 2209

When I got home, I wasn't particularly tired, so I sat down at my desktop and opened the three "Hatchling" files, then stayed up until 3:30am comparing the versions and saving them all into a master file called Hatchling (Amazon).doc.  When I was done, I could barely concentrate (I had only managed 34 words, apparently, but I might not have been awake enough to accurately count them), but I saved the file and noticed the story is just over 38,000 words.  That means, to my chagrin, that when I sit and record it, I'll have another novel on my hands.  Kind of pleasing, if I do say so my tired self.

As this segment of the mid-life crisis winds itself down, I don't feel like I've accomplished much (I haven't done a hike in February despite saying I'd do one a month), but I saw a pair of rollerblades in my size at the discount store where I buy my envelopes.  I can't afford a sportscar, due to my many, many, many bad life choices, but I am tempted to buy them and try out rollerblading, because my backside doesn't have enough marks on it, I suppose.

Words Today: 708
Words In February: 16,077

February Sweeps - Day 387

Got a headache today.  I spent half of my morning with work and the other half trying to take care of my car (which, cards on the table, my uncle did most of the work with, calling his mechanic and making an appointment for me, where I only had to find out what was covered by my insurance and get a tow truck to come pick up my car and take it to the shop).  I spent a few minutes cleaning out the car--an activity I tend to do two or three times a year, and then had no place to put all the junk from the back seat.*

My nephew has these debilitating migraines that plague him pretty much constantly, and have forced him to cut school down to only a couple of hours each day.  He literally has a headache every single day of the week, ranging from mild to unbearable, and though they've tried multiple medications, a chiropractor, and counseling, it seems to be a cross he bears at this point in his life.  It seems to be inherited (my sister gets two or three of them a month, and my Uncle Sam in California told me a year or two ago that he's had a headache every single day since he was fifteen or so), so I have no room to complain that I have a little one today, which only prevented me from podcasting (I had to turn it off) and enjoying music on the radio.

Every other night or so, I have watched an episode of "Modern Family" before I go to bed, and I'm really enjoying it.  The writing and acting are excellent, and you know who is absolutely great on the show?  The dude who plays the dad.  I know his name, but the headache is preventing me from remembering it (it seems to be preventing me from writing too, though blogging is fair game, apparently).

Oh, Ty Burrell.  I'm about 95% sure that's his name.  

He plays this well-meaning but ultimately clueless dork who spends at least one moment in each episode being wrong from one extreme to another, and his comic timing is unbelievable.  I'm sure, as the show goes on, that his character will become a cartoon, like Homer Simpson did on "The Simpsons," where he got stupider and more loutish with each successive season, to the point he stopped being recognizable (but of course, all the family members on that show did, and by the time I quit watching it, everyone but Maggie had become Star Trek Mirror Universe parodies of themselves in everything but goatees).  We'll see.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 2329

I have this stupid eBay store I set up in 2016, which allows me to list an item for sale and then just forget about it (actually, it was probably 2019 or so when the listings became permanent, but I can't remember exactly--headache).  And that has been great . . . except that I often put something up for sale, and when it sells, eight, nine, twelve, fourteen months later, I have no idea where it is anymore.  Then I have to look all over for it, and only end up finding the item about 45% of the time.  I sold a dinosaur over the weekend from the year JURASSIC WORLD 2 came out (was that 2018?) and I don't even want to try to look for it.  I'm leaning toward just giving the guy his money back, without even going through my dinosaur boxes.

The thing is, about a month ago, like right around New Year's, I got the idea to go through my store and cancel EVERY SINGLE ONE of the "Jurassic World" dinosaur toys, because I kept having that problem, then I would go through a single box and relist just what was in the box, so I knew I had it . . . but I didn't do it.  

Push-ups Today: 139
Push-ups In February: 2154

I edited another chapter of "A Sidekick's Errand" today, and the final product is just under an hour long so far (probably comes out to two in the end).  This is the story, if you recall, where Ben Parks and Deputy Anglesworth go on a little outing together, and even though I wrote it last year (and recorded it this year), it's still a surprise just how much of a toad the Anglesworth character is.  

There's different kinds of bad people, and while the deputy is not evil per se, he's a loathsome clod and the closest thing to an antagonist the story has to offer.  I combined attributes from various people I've known over the years in this character, and put him together with Benny, whose only negative traits are ignorance and youth (I guess being small is a negative too), just so there could be some kind of understanding between them.**

I did an image search for "douchebag," and this was one of the results.

Remind me to publish this story soon (at least by the end of the week) and get to work on the next one.  If I could EVER finish a writing project, I'd put "Sins of a Sidekick" at the top of my list.

Okay, as number two on my list, since "Balms & Sears" needs to be finished.  I opened the file today at the library, and it needs some serious work (Alec, the main character's best friend starts out being called Scene (a mispronunication of Sean) and eventually I forgot about that and started calling him Chase), but I could take 48 hours and get to the end.  

Remind me to do that too.

Words Today: 487 (I may have more push-ups than words today)
Words In February: 15,369

*My sister is bound to complain that I stuck it all in the entryway, but I need to go through it and figure out what I could sell, and that'll take an hour or two tonight to get done.

**I killed Anglesworth in "A Sidekick's Journey," so I had to retroactively place this story before that one just so I could reimagine something that happened to my brother as happening to him.  

February Sweeps - Day 386

Last night on "Saturday Night Live," they actually did a sketch about Olivia Rodrigo's "drivers license."  I guess I'll post it here:

The thing that's so funny is that it can't just be me.  The best part is when Kate McKinnon as some old Italian dude says it's been fifty-five years since he got his driver's license, and it still hits him so hard.*  I felt truly blessed (and I mean that in the lamest POSSIBLE way) that I heard that song this week, so that I got the joke of this SNL sketch.  It makes me feel less alone.

Oh, but I am alone.  Who knows what I have spoken to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night?

...when all my life seems to shrink.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 2229

So, I spent the late morning and early afternoon out and about, having taken my gross, corroded car battery out of my car and, borrowing my mom's car, replacing it with a new, clean battery from the store.  I got home, installed it into my own car and . . . it wouldn't start.  Wouldn't even try.

My uncle fears that something terrible has gone wrong in the car, and he's probably right, but I'm choosing not to think about it right now.

Push-ups Today: 55
Push-ups In February: 2015

I've mentioned (several times on my podcast, and plenty of times whilst straining on the toilet) that I find the era of the pulp magazines to be a romantic one.  The idea of HAVING to produce a new story every week (or multiples, depending on how many contacts and pseudonyms you had) is a daunting one.  It makes me wish I were a bit better at producing content.

But Rish, you say with all charity, you do plenty!  You wrote every day for a year, and put out a ton of podcast episodes!  If we count audio sketches, you easily wrote two stories every month in 2020!  And you're not nearly as fat as you think you are, as long as we turn down the lights!

Well, thank you, stranger.  I appreciate that.

But still, I had this idea about the twins (I want to title it something like "Unidentical Twins" or "Inexact Duplicates" or something like that; if only there were a word that was the opposite of "identical"), and I doubt I'll ever write it, despite thinking about it on Friday's run, trying to figure out how it could end.**  

As far as writing goes, I got almost none done today.  I jotted down some notes for a story for a contest I'm not going to enter (if I can come up with a satisfying ending, it'll be a good one), and I discovered I had not only never recorded my story "Murdertown - 1 Mile," but that Gino made a cover for me years ago and I never published the story on Amazon.

So, I will remedy that this week.  Also, should I do an episode of the podcast about it?  Seems like I could talk for a little while about my fascination with little towns that have their own effed up rules and traditions.

Words Today: 348

Words In February: 14,882

*I don't get it either, but this sketch aired on that kid's eighteenth birthday.  Imagine that.  I hope she understands . . . but there is NO WAY she can . . . that it will never get better for her than it is right now.  The number one song in the world, when has that happened except for charity singles and Christmas tracks?  Of course, the pandemic will lift and she can play her piano to sold-out stadiums and stuff, probably win awards, probably date Tom Hiddleston or Ryan Gosling, maybe have kids of her own, but seriously, it's all downhill from here.  This is her "Thriller" moment, this is her "Ed Sullivan Show," right now. 

**Mostly, I just wanted to come up with a good--yet not overused--explanation as to why the sister of the main character has changed.  Is it all in Layla's head?  Has her sister been brainwashed by some evil organization then sent back into suburbia like a less-spectacular version of Blofeld's plan in ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE?

February Sweeps - Day 385

I was editing audio of my most recent Ben Parks story today, and in it, I sneezed.  Twice.

Pretty much everybody in my family has these gargantuan, almost-explosive sneezes, which are the polar opposite of the cutesy lil "Eeep!" sneezes librarians and fairy princesses and child prostitutes have.  They're body-wracking eruptions that always red-line my audio.  Sometimes they feel dangerous or sound like sea lions exploding.  I remember a couple of Christmases ago, my brother sneezed one of those wall-shaking sneezes and I asked him, "Are you ever afraid that one of these times you'll burst a blood vessel in your head and that'll be it?"  And he said, "Yeah.  All the time."

So, out of curiosity, I did a Google search: "Can you sneeze yourself to death?"  

And it came up with various results, suggesting that, while uncommon, it is possible.  More common is people slipping a disc in their backs, bursting their eardrums, or defecating uncontrollably.  It also gave me other, related question prompts, including, I shit you not, "What would happen if you sneeze, burped, and farted at the same time?"

I didn't have to click on the link to know what the answer would be: "Everyone in the world would cease to exist."  A no-brainer, really.

I've said, a hundred times or more, that the worst part of doing my stories is the audio editing.  It's the lengthiest, most dull, least-creatively satisfying part, and it requires a different kind of concentration than just writing does, one that is like homework instead of play.

But in editing the first . . .  chapter? segment? section? . . . of "A Sidekick's Errand" today, I surprised myself by really enjoying it.  I was tempted to just release the story on the Outcast, even though my plan was to wait a year or so (the last story was released in December of 2019).

Still gotta make a cover for it, though.

Oh, I meant to blog about this yesterday, but I got too bogged-down in talking about the "Drivers License" song (which actually has no apostrophe).  I went ahead and published "podcatcher," so if you want to read it, it's available HERE.  I'd like to run it on the show, but hey, I'd like to run a lot of stuff on the show (honestly, just putting in the metadata and uploading the cover feels like a monumental task sometimes).

Sit-ups Today: 166
Sit-ups In February: 2129

I waited until there was only an hour left before the library closed, and I headed for the car.  And the engine wouldn't start.  Somehow, my battery was dead.  I tried to jump it with this neat portable battery recharger my mom bought . . . and the recharger was also dead.  I'm grateful it happened at home, during the day, and not when I was out somewhere, in a snowstorm.

So, I took my dad's pickup truck to the library, only managing to get 549 words before they started to flash the lights.

Push-ups Today: 138
Push-ups February: 1960

I went straight home, hoping to fix my car's battery before it got dark, but the lil recharger wouldn't turn on, despite having charging the hour I was at the library.  I got the jumper cables from the truck and tried, but had no luck starting my car. There was so much acid around the battery, however, that I wasn't sure if the battery needed replacing or if there wasn't a connection anymore.  So, I scraped off as much as I could, and later, my brother-in-law used this little brush thing to clean it better . . . and the engine started right up.

He told me to drive the car around for half an hour, but not to kill the engine, and I tried calling Big at home again, just to have somebody to talk to while I drove around, but he didn't pick up.  I listened to that "drivers license" song a few times, trying to learn it*, before finally just coming home and sitting in the car until the half hour had run out.  I killed the engine, tried to start it again . . . and it wouldn't even try to turn over.  In fact, the light wouldn't come on when I opened the door and the door wouldn't lock when I walked away from the car.

Guess I know what I'll be doing tomorrow.

Words Today: 764
Words In February: 14,534

Okay, if you've read this far, I guess I'll tell you what the link really said (re: what would happen).  If you sneeze, burped, and farted at the same time, it said the only result would be that you'd feel quite a bit relieved.

*I found out there's a "Clean" version and am trying to decide which version I like better.  It'll probably take a few dozen more listens to decide.

February Sweeps - Day 384

I did two story pitches in the last twenty-four hours.  Not professional pitches, but just telling others about two story ideas and getting their opinion.  The first was to Big Anklevich as he was stuck in the car driving home from work last night.  There was a story contest I saw with a premise I thought I could get behind, and I told him my idea.  Unfortunately, I later discovered that it was one of those writing contests where there's a fee for you to enter it, and I'll admit that that deflated my excitement quite a bit (Big likened it to a vanity press saying, "You pay us and we'll publish your book!").  He did suggest I write it anyway, not necessarily for the contest, but I have SOOOOOOO many works-in-progress that will never get completed that it seems foolhardy to even consider that.*

The other pitch was today, to that twin that I have been pestering, telling her I had come up with a twin-centric story for her.  About halfway through the pitch, she said, "Wait, where is this from?  This is something you've made up?"  I couldn't tell if she was impressed or disgusted (probably the latter), but it was a pretty darn good idea, if I do say so my own self, and later, I came up with the way it could end, but didn't quite dare bother her with it, since she seemed less-than-impressed that I came up with a story about her and her sister.** 

Push-ups Today: 50
Push-ups In February: 1822

I came to the library and found almost no one here (my suspicion is that young people have exciting and fun things to do on Friday afternoons, and they're off doing them), and sat down in the exact same chair I sat in yesterday.  But yesterday, I was annoyed to discover that the legs were uneven in the chair and I rocked back and forth as though there was a hole in the floor or something.  Of course, I am far too lazy to get up and sit somewhere else, despite this chair rocking to a John Cougar Mellencamp song only it hears.

I got very little writing done in my time at the library.  Although, in my defense, I did write up notes on my story "Identical" (although it might be better to call it "Exact Duplicate"), so that, a year from now, when I stumble upon the file, I say, "Oh, I had completely forgotten about that idea!"***

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1963

I saw somebody online mention how much they loved the song "Drivers License" on Wednesday or Thursday, and remembered hearing a few seconds of a song called that after leaving my cousin's house Tuesday night (playing 9s and 10s to stay awake until the icy road did it for me).  I checked out the song myself, frankly pretty dubious, since the singer/songwriter was born in 2003 (she turns eighteen tomorrow.  Whoa).  

But to my surprise, "Drivers License" by Olivia Rodrigo, which is apparently the biggest hit song of . . . the 21st Century? . . . completely wrecked me.  It didn't matter that I have stains on my pillowcase older than Olivia Rodrigo or that I've been around way more than twice her lifetime (while only racking up a third of her life experience, oddly), the song totally spoke to me and broke my heart.  And I've listened to it a dozen or more times since, like a fudgin' Zoomer.

My whole life I've been afraid of saying I love something, because you put yourself out there when you do ("Holy smoke, I love SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE."  "That movie's gay and so are you."), and it's so much easier to just say you hate something (which I do often . . . maybe too often).  But dude, I'm old enough now (I've started getting those Reed Richards white streaks in my hair right above my ears) that I need to just own what I love and give as few shits as possible that people feel differently.

So, hey, I'm a fan of this song, even with that awkward "insecure" in the second verse.  I guess it's like my unabashed love for Taylor Swift, that Ed Sheeran song where he says "grass" but makes it sound like "cross," or PEARL HARBOR (which I apologized to Kate Beckinsale for asking to autograph the poster of), or just last week talking about that "Golem and the Jinni" book, or JENNIFER'S BODY, or the greatest movie ever made, 1987's MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE.  Except the last one is kind of meant to be funny, even though it probably isn't.**** 

Words Today: 550
Words In February: 13,770

Christ, I'm gonna keep talking.  We always--we old people, I mean--always talk about how worthless and stupid teenagers are (I know, I do it too), and how their feelings aren't real feelings, their life experiences aren't real life experiences, and when they get older and grow up they'll understand that all that drama in high school was for nothing.*****

But at the same time . . . it is real.  The teenage years tend to be (a generalization, yeah) when you fall in love for the first time, break up for the first time, make new friends and lose them, and experience so much newness that I can forgive them for all the noise and melodrama.  I remember what that was like . . . because it was five minutes ago.

And this girl, Olivia Rodrigo, really seems to be feeling it in the song (whether that's manufactured by her billion-dollar record label or not).  I believe it when I hear the song, and that's half the work right there.  And I feel it too, even though her experience is surely 99% different than my own (or lack thereof).

Part of me will never get over my bitterness about my teenage years (and believe me, I've enough bitterness to fill a Smiths album, two Counting Crows singles, plus a Fallout Boy EP), and that may be why I'm always writing about teenagers.  In a lot of ways, I never evolved past that stage of development--I'm still that kid that wanted to cry because the Eighties were over and I never got to do anything in them.

I'm never going to be a successful writer, I realize that.  But I'm gonna keep writing my "little stories" (as my dad called them), because that's what keeps me sane(ish), and because it gives me purpose and a feeling of control in my life.  And maybe, just maybe, somebody will read one of them one day and say, "Wow, that was really excellent, and exactly what I wanted/needed to read tonight."  You never know.

Yes, this is what you think it is.

*I got this idea on the drive to the library just now of doing an Outcast episode where I talk about unfinished stories/novels, and read either Edgar Allan Poe's last incomplete story or one of my own, or both.  Still think there's something there worth talking about.

**I had told her, a month or so back, "I'm gonna write a story about it, about identical twins," but she must not have considered the icky implications of that.  And by icky, I mean, absolutely no implications whatsoever.  

***Stephen King would tell you that, if you forget about an idea for a story, then it wasn't that good an idea to begin with.  According to him, it's the ideas that nag at you, over and over, to write them, that make the best stories.  And I'll bet Big Anklevich would agree with him.

****When I first saw it in 1999, I proclaimed it to be the GOAT, and it upset my roommate so much I've never not said it since.

*****I often talk about the one production of "Romeo & Juliet" that I went to in college, and how the director said (in the program) that the titular characters were a couple of naïve, pubescent know-nothings that threw away their lives for no reason at all, and how wrong-headed letting someone like that direct the greatest romance in stage history seemed to me at the time (and even more so to me today . . . like whenever I'd hear Jack Sholder, the director of NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 2 [and about five other horror films] complain that he hated Horror, and yet the only jobs he got offered were in that genre and how I'd think, "You ungrateful knob.  Stop doing horror movies and go on the effing dole then, and let somebody who loves that subject matter take over), but I still was both thrilled and moved by it, regardless of the director's attempt to screw over his own production.

February Sweeps - Day 383

(what the hell is this?  Anybody know?)

I checked out Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaid's Tale" from the library a week or two back.  I had heard about the book quite often over the years, and there's a quite successful TV series based on it (which I've never seen), so I thought I'd give it a go.  It was, however, a wholly unpleasant experience, leaving a weight on my shoulders and the kind of residue on my fingers you get only from leaky diapers or the inside of garbage barrels in summertime.  I understood that the purpose was to show a dystopian society so miserable you will become emotionally involved in seeing the main character escape it . . . but it just made me feel awful inside, and each day was a struggle, until finally, today, I decided enough was enough.

I returned it just now and grabbed a Harlan Coben book (seemingly at random), and I already feel a little bit lighter, the way you feel after loosening the top button on your shirt after climbing several flights of stairs (or maybe taking off your COVID mask after wearing it for hours at a time).

I had read up on the book before checking it out, so I knew what I was getting into, but I constantly found myself questioning what was going on and why information was deliberately being kept from us.  As a writer myself, I pay attention to how real writers parcel out backstory and world-building, but this one just seemed cruelly miserly in doling out what we needed to know, and I couldn't understand how, if only three years had passed since the main character had a husband and a child, how all that was such a distant memory to her it was like me trying to remember the details of the politics of the Reagan Administration.  And it didn't help that I had gotten the 1988 audiobook from the library, and it was narrated by someone who sounded like she'd play Kathy Bates's mother in a movie, let alone Kathy Bates herself, much less Elizabeth Moss.

I don't know why I'm telling you all this.  Once again, I should be writing.  I've been at the library for more than a half hour now, and I have exactly zero words written.  Today, in fact, might be the day I stop.  I have a bit of a headache and my mask is particularly stifling right now, and I also smell recently-dried urine, which could be me, could be my mask, or could be where I'm sitting.

Push-ups Today: 137
Push-ups In February: 1772

I finished editing "White House Tour," and it was only fifteen minutes long (and even that was too long, I imagine).  Now, on to the next one.

At the library, I took this picture of the mountain looking particularly white.

I really like the colors.

Sit-ups Today: 100 (once again, these were really hard.  I can never predict this sort of thing)
Sit-ups In February: 1863

In stupid person news, I tried that "Center of Gravity" challenge that all the kids are doing, and I hit my forehead on the floor so hard, I started to enjoy Vin Diesel movies.*

During my run, as often happens, I got all ambitious about publishing stories and collections, and todl myself to AT LEAST publish the text of "podcatcher" if not get one of those audio collections ready to go.  I think/fear this may be one of those resolutions that keeps getting kicked month to month, like "Balms & Sears" was all last year, until the year is finally done and--

Oh wait, putting out that audio collection WAS one of my New Year's Resolutions for 2020.  Whoops.

Words Today: 979
Words In February: 13,220

*The funny thing is, at the end of the article I read about it, it said, "We know you’re going to try this challenge, especially the men in the audience. If you’re trying, you should probably make your attempt over a nice, cushy pillow."  I read that, of course, after having done it.

January Sweeps - Day 382

I was driving home from my cousin's last night in the rain--the temperature was just under freezing--and all the moisture had me scared.  I've crashed twice on that freeway over the years, and skidded on ice innumerable times*, and it has made me ultra-cautious about driving on icy roads.  And as happens two to ten times every winter, I go really slowly, and end up with cars (or more often, trucks) pulling up behind me wanting to go much, much faster, and probably calling me the names for bodily orifices' that don't show up in Grey's Anatomy.

There was one section of freeway where it was still covered with snow (but who knew what the snow was covering) because it was, I'm assuming, in between two towns and neither town's snowplows considered it a priority, where the lanes were no longer visible and I slowed way down, worried that I'd hit a patch of black ice and in less than a second, would be spinning or sliding out of control.  It was at about that moment that a huge red eighteen-wheeler rocketed past me on the right, going seventy or so, shaking my little car and defecating a spray of slush all over my windshield.

I don't understand how they can drive so boldly in these gargantuan semi trucks (Big says they have to get to their destination on time, regardless of road conditions), whether those behemoths are more secure on the roads, or whether the drivers are too experienced to feel weakness or fear.  All I know is that never before had I hated Optimus Prime.

Sit-ups Today: 120
Sit-ups In February: 1763

Push-ups Today: 55
Push-ups In February: 1635 

One of the many short stories I recorded recently for audio collections (Big Anklevich had intended to do the same, and it would've given him something to do during his sixty hour-sleepover at work this week) was a little piece called "White House Tour" that I wrote while in Denver with my friend Jeff a few years ago.  I wrote it for another of the HorrorAddicts website story contests (they called them "Masters of the Macabre," if I recall correctly), and it did not win.

Obviously, I mean, it did not win, as it's not a very good story, and I hadn't looked at it since submitting it in 2013.  But I was surprised to pick up on a couple details that I had gleaned in researching the various ghosts that are supposed to haunt the White House, and wince at the dated reference of Daniel Day Lewis playing Lincoln in a movie at the time.  But still, it was what it was, and I'm not at all ashamed of it, and it'll do fine in an audio collection, though I don't know if I'll be releasing it as an episode of the Outcast.

I really ought to, though.  Stories like "Run Away," "Suckers For Mystery," "Secret 'Stache," "Waffle Iron Man," "Never Let Him Go," "Z Day Report," and "White House Tour" are written, recorded, and edited, and it's only natural that I'd release some--or all--of them as episodes.  Got no plans to, though.

Strange, that.

Words Today: 650
Words In February: 12,241

*Once, I hit some ice and did a complete 180 on the freeway, slamming my car against the inner barrier and stopping in the carpool lane, facing oncoming traffic . . . but luckily, it was one-something in the morning and no other cars were speeding toward me.  Still, it was the kind of thrill you wouldn't wish on anybody (save teen bullies and certain politicians).

15 Goals For 2021 - February Update

1.  Go on one hike a month.
So far, so good.

2.  Finally write the "Bossk PD" sketch.

Started it on Feb. 6th.

3.  Collaborate on a story with Big Anklevich.

Nothing yet.  But he's starting to write daily again, so we'll see.

4.  Put out Christmas collection I was supposed to put out in 2020.
I edited a story, but this one has stalled--mostly due to the holiday theme of it all.

5.  Put out Audio collection I was supposed to put out in 2019.

I have edited two more stories that could go in this (or the next one), and have started compiling the text files.

6.  Go to the Salt Flats in central (northern?) Utah.
Found out it's central Utah, right before the Nevada border.  One article says it spends part of the year underwater, so I need to verify that.

7.  Finish "Only Have Eyes For You."
Wow, I did that.  Weird.

8.  Publish "Hatchling." 
Nothing yet.

9.  Publish "Underdecorated" AND "Podcatcher" AND "A Sidekick's Errand."
Both "podcatcher" (now lowercase) and "Errand" are ready to go (although I need a cover for the latter).

10.  Record "Know When To Walk Away" With Big.
I reformatted the story, fixing a couple of typos, but haven't sent it to him yet.

11.  Put out two "Tales of eBay Horror" episodes.
Never.

12.  Finally finish "Balms & Sears."
Hmm.

13.  Put out lost TGMG Thanos episode.
Maybe.

14.  Continue to exercise.  Why not?
Sure did.  I surprised myself by actually sweating--outside--in January.  And every day so far in February.

15.  Maintain a positive outlook on life.
One of my listeners asked me how, if I accomplish this, he could too.  If I manage it, I'll let you know.

These are my completed writing projects in 2021:

1.  Only Have Eyes For You (D&B . . . novel-length)

2.  Jake From State Farm commercial (sketch)

3.  Heads Up (Horror, longer version and short version)

4.  Testing Anxiety 

February Sweeps - Day 381

Today's schedule is all messed up.  There's no more reason for me to get up early on Tuesdays, so I abandoned the positive change in my life like it was a New Year's Resolution, but my mom is going to get her COVID vaccination shot this afternoon, so I need to be watching my sister's kids at the time I'd usually be at the library.  So, I snuck over to the library as soon as my work was (close to) done, and that's where I am now, for the next seventy minutes.

I must write, and yet, there's so much more I'd rather do.*

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1643

So, I took a few minutes to knock the few words remaining on my story "Heads Up" so it would be a thousand words (but that includes the title and byline, hmm).  After that, I thought I'd look over "Waffle Iron Man" again, because it didn't seem complete, even when I was narrating it the other day.  Turns out, there were three files I sent to myself as I was writing it (surely from the library, those daily sessions I'd do at a borrowed computer, until the day that they crashed and I lost everything I'd worked on--it happened to me three or four times in 2020, which probably translates to a full story I would've written in that wasted time), but they were all different (usually the most recent one contains the work from the times before it).

So, grabbing all the bits (some of which were redundant, having been written over when I noticed them), and pasting them into the master document brings "Waffle Iron Man" up to around 9000 words.  

Because I had to watch the kids, I also did my run much earlier than I usually do (during the daylight hours), and it was nice not to have to constantly watch where I was stepping--although because of all the rain, there were tons of puddles and back-up drains, so I still had to be careful, and ended up with shoes and socks soaked all the way through when I made it back.  Oh, the things we do for . . . wait, why am I doing this again?

Push-ups Today: 136
Push-ups In February: 1580

Big Anklevich is in the middle of a cold storm attack disaster down in Texas (I should've just said "the opposite of a heat wave"), and had himself a bit of an adventure this week.  On Sunday, he decided to go into work the day before his shift, along with clothes, food, sleeping bag, and a genital cuff, so he wouldn't have to drive to work the next day during the snowstorm, which was likely to make the roads super dangerous.  So, he and a few other employees of the TV news were having a sleepover at the station, and would be required to work twelve hour shifts on Monday and Tuesday, as the news of the cold weather disaster arrived.

I talked to him a couple of times, and he said it was colder than Houston had been since 1987, and many people were unprepared for it.  For the most part, they stayed off the roads, but so many people turning on their heaters and snow stopping wind and solar power plants (as well as some that had not been needed, and were already off) caused a huge electricity shortage where he lives.  And houses that lost power panicked, trying to find alternate ways of staying warm, which included space heaters--which caused fires, turning on their car heaters--which causes carbon monoxide poisoning, and bringing barbecue grills into the house--which also poisoned people.  

Big works in a big "If it bleeds, it leads" industry, and that can be very depressing, and I wonder how he manages to stay sane among all that negativity and human suffering.  Indeed, how can any of us?  But he continues to get up early and stay up late every single night, doing what he can to keep his head above water (and snow), and in that, I suppose he is a role model.

Just not to his kids.

Words Today: 781
Words In February: 11,591

*It's so stupid, because the whole reason I came here was to sit down and write with absolutely no distractions (or temptations to surf the net or sleep).  And the first thing I think to do when I get here is blog and surf the net.  I guess I deserve my misery.

Rish Outcast 193: A Good Enough Episode

Rish tries--and examines what it means--to put out an episode that is good enough.  Also, be warned--Fake Sean's tin roof has rusted.

Go ahead and download the episode by Right-Click HERE.

Go ever further and support me on Patreon at THIS LINK.

Logo by Gino "Great Enough" Moretto.

February Sweeps - Day 380

Today is a bank holiday, meaning no post, no library, no farting please.

It was also, it seems, free from blogging.  I didn't end up typing anything on here except for the above sentence.  I considered it a day off--for the most part--and had lunch with my cousin, edited another story (this one for the "Female Protagonist" collection), and got about twenty minutes into a Rish Outcast recorded back in September.*

Sit-ups Today: 111
Sit-ups In February: 1543

I watched quite a bit of television and YouTube, truth be told, though one thing I did accomplish was go for my jog in a winter fog, something I'd never experienced before.  It wasn't movie fog--you could see in front of you--but it did make me a bit more nervous about being run down by motorists, and I'll admit that I leapt onto the sidewalk a couple of times when cars drove toward me.  And perhaps that meant I didn't wish to get run over, and maybe that's progress too.

Push-ups Today: 60
Push-ups In February: 1444

I had no room on my recorder still (I seem to have lost my alternate SD card, otherwise I'm sure I'd have room there), so I didn't get any of that done.  I did write up an author's note and an addition to an older story, and shaved another 90 words off my contest entry (which I'm now calling "Heads Up," and boy oh boy, does it suck!), and that's what I accomplished for the day.

Words Today: 441
Words In February: 10,810

*This was one I wasn't sure whether to put out as an episode, as it was mostly me coming up with a story on the fly.  But the thing is: why did I record it if I didn't intend to put it out there?  And if just one person enjoys hearing how my story "Two Month Retreat" came about, well, that's not very good . . . but something I can live with.

Marshal and I Talk About MARNIE

Who would dare dislike an Alfred Hitchcock movie?  Well, join me and Marshal Latham for the second-to-newest Outfield Excursion podcast to find out.

Check it out HERE.

February Sweeps - Day 379

Because it's a Sunday, and I went on my usual route for the morning, and had family dinner as is typical, it was much easier to forget what today is than last year or the year before.  And that's nice.

Well, happy Valentine's Day, everybody.

God, I love this.  I'm going to try to put a MIDSOMMER image up every year for V-Day.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1432

Last V-Day, I at least had the benefit of going to my writers conference AND laying eyes (and ears) on the love of my life (at least a half-life).

But ah well.  Life isn't supposed to be easy and fun.  It's supposed to be hard.  And short.  I think I saw that on a bumper sticker.  Or a political ad.

Of course, I'm much less motivated a year on than I was last year (February 2020 is, and will surely remain, my most productive month of all time), but that dork that went on two runs last year would be impressed to know that I'm still doing it, a year later, and that I had done fifty more song videos, even if I barely release them anymore.*

Push-ups Today: 135
Push-ups In February: 1384

I didn't much want to write tonight, but I had to get SOME words in.  I sat down and recorded the first half of "Waffle Iron Man," and I'm happy to report that it went very, very well.  It's just a short story (about seven thousand words--although it might reach ten by the end of revisions), but it seemed pretty solid, and I didn't have much in the way of edits as I was recording it (mostly just little additions to the dialogue, a callback and a setup, making one of the characters from Georgia so I could do an accent, etc.).

Of course, you get to be the judge, once I get it published.  What do you think of my cover art?

I was out of space on my recorder (honestly, I'm gonna have to sit down and edit for two or three hours tomorrow, just to free up space), but I'd only gotten about three hundred words written.  Around 1:45, I decided to write something up with next month's goal in mind of writing a story where the main character is not a loser, big or small.

So I wrote this:

Test Anxiety
By Rish Outfield

    There were plenty of clouds in the sky, but the sunlight kept getting through, warming the April afternoon a bit at a time as it shone down upon us.  My son and I chose to sit on the grass rather than in the car, eating the pizza and not really saying anything while we did so, just enjoying the day.  Finally, I glanced over at my boy, and saw that there was real worry in his eyes.

     "You okay, Marcus?"

    "Yeah," he lied.

    "Nervous about tomorrow," I said, not asked.  He would've been crazy not to be--if he failed the tests, there would go his future prospects, a lot of his choices, his nutsack, maybe even his freedom.

    "Did you have to Test?" he asked me, and I could tell that he was seriously close to bursting into tears there, a person who would be sixteen in less than twelve hours.  That gave me pause.

    "My generation was right at the tail end before they started it," I said.  "My little brother took it, and he was just seven years younger than me."

    "Sister, you mean," Marcus said.  Then he blinked a few times.  "You mean, you had a brother too?"

    "Yes.  And yes, he's dead.  But not because of the Test.  He died later, in Cleansing One."

    Marcus nodded.  They taught the two Cleansings in school, as a single event, even though there was three years between them.  "So, you never had to take the Test?"

    "No.  But you gotta understand, son, I wouldn't have had to.  See, I was tall and strong, even when I was twelve or thirteen or so.  And super good-looking, some of which I passed on to you."

    "So you would've pre-qualified," Marcus said.

    "Right.  I was athletic, had good genetics, and packed a really impressive unit.  I could've skipped a lot of the Test, had they given it out then."

    "Lucky," he muttered, and I could see the worry appear on his brow once again.    

    "Look, the point is that you're my son, so you inherited a lot from me.  And your mother was no slouch.  You'll do fine."

    "But you had those things on your teeth.  The metal pieces?"

    I remembered.  "Right, braces.  How do you know that?"

    "Pictures, Dad.  Did those hurt?"

    "They were uncomfortable, and looked weird, I know.  That was before they'd invented dental walls, but hey, there's an advantage you had over me."

    "Maybe.  But I'm still nervous."

    "That's understandable.  But you're gonna do fine.  They'll check your blood, look you over, and you'll be cleared for both higher learning and breeding acceptability.  I just know it."

    "I wish I had your confidence," he muttered.

    "Everybody does.  It's just another one of my gifts.  Maybe it's in you someplace as well.  Just hiding."

    "I hope so," Marcus said, his eyes lowered.  Then he sat up straighter, and I saw him make an effort to be positive and optimistic.  It did me proud.  "One more question."

    "What's that?" I asked.

    "You want that last piece of pizza?"  

Words Today: 898
Words In February: 10,369

*It's just so much thankless work.  The fun is in learning (or "learning," in my case) a song and trying to perform it in one take, especially the ones in the summer and fall where I'd do it right as the sun started setting, and if I screwed it up--bam!--I lost the light.