Category: Life

  • A Typo in the First Sentence

    There is one continuous issue of mine, which befuddles and frustrates my life as a writer; typos. More specifically, my inability to proofread and catch my typos.

    One of the best Christmas presents I received was a toy typewriter when I was ten years old. I quickly set about writing stories, and trying my hand at creating a newspaper. No matter how hard I tried, I could never produce any copy that didn’t have some sort of mistake in it, which my older brothers loved to point out. Even in the age of early word processors, my teachers would have a field day pointing out my typos, adding snarky advice how if I slowed down and proofread better, than I could have earned a higher grade. I am sure that any of you, who have spent any time reading this blog, have seen my many, and I mean many, typos that proliferate my posts. I do try to correct these mistakes when I do a reread of a post, but normally, I don’t go back and look at my old blogs.

    But I have been trying to get better. Especially when it comes to submitting stories and other written work. I even ask the wife to lend a hand when she has the time, but on the whole, it is a task that I attempt, and maddingly fail at very often.

    Case in point, I just realized a few days ago that I had been sending out a story that had a typo in the first sentence. Right there, six words in. It should have been the word “simply” but I had written simple. No matter how many times I read, and reread this story, my mind kept seeing and saying “simply” even though, clear as day on the page, it said “simple.”

    I don’t know how I could have missed that, over and over again…

    And today was the day that I learned that medieval scribes attributed mistakes in their manuscripts to a demon by the name of Titivillus. They didn’t make a mistake; It was Titivillus!

    (I like this picture of the scribe looking at Titivillus. The scribe doesn’t seem frightened by the demon waiting at his desk, but he seems resigned that the demon is there, and will do what the demon does. I have a feeling that these two are on a first name bases with each other.)

    I do feel better knowing that this really isn’t my fault, my lack of skill when it comes to proofreading, that is. All this time, there was a small supernatural being that was messing with me. A demon that doesn’t commit heinous acts of death and destruction, but causes people mild annoyance and embarrassment.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Guilty and Does It Matter?

    (But his emails…)

    I had two conflicting thoughts in my head as Trump’s New York False Records case got underway; first was that Trump won’t be found guilty, and second was that this was the case Trump was most likely to be found guilty on. Yes, I was able to circle this square in my mind. First was just past behavior, as Trump always found a way to weasel out of accountability. Second was that this case was about having sex and trying to hide it. Not that everyone cheats on their wife, but everyone does something wrong and tries to make it go away. The motive and emotions of committing this crime are easy to understand, which makes it an easy story for the prosecution to sell a jury on. Now, I did think there would be one hold out juror, especially from that person who said on their jury form that they got their news from TruthSocial. But I was wrong, and I’m okay with that.

    And with the guilty verdict, does it even matter? I don’t know. I don’t think the verdict will cause a mass exodus from Trump’s camp come November. But I do think this verdict could peal off 10,000 soft Trump voters, or voters who are still on the fence in the swing states, and help Biden out. I have a hard time believing that Americans would elect a convicted felon, yet I know that we do live in the age when anything is possible. Even really really awful terrible shit is possible now.

    Shall we end on a happier note?

  • We Come from Farmers

    Up until the 1920’s, both sides of my family – mother and father – were made up of farmers. Especially on my mother’s side; they had been farmers in North America since about 1660 up in Canada. My dad’s side had pretty much been substance farmers since Rome tried to cross the Rhine, but on the whole, substance farmers from Northern Illinois. Point being; farming is what my family did until they started working in factories, and then all became middle class.

    So, for a century now, people in my family have been removed from working the land. And honestly, it shows, as there really isn’t anybody in my family who can grow anything. Our luck at growing plants, gardens, or shrubberies is quite awful. We can’t make anything green grow, unless we pay someone to help us.

    Several times in the City, the wife and I have tried our hand at growing something in a flowerbox or planter on our fire escape. And sadly, nothing has lived. We did get some seeds from a lemon as part of a class project for the kid, and we managed to grow into a small lemon tree. But the lack of green thumb kicked in, and the lemon tree died last fall.

    And did I mention that we are also very lazy people…

    See, we left the lemon tree pot on the fire escape all Fall, Winter, and this Spring. We meant to get rid of it, but it functioned as a sort of plant cemetery; reminding us of our loss, and warning us if we ever got ambitious enough again.

    And then something started growing out of that pot. First we thought that the lemon tree had sprung back to life. Not sure if that is even a thing, but we thought it for a while. Then the sprouting plant began to take on the form of a recognizable weed. Not weed, but a weed – Prickly Lettuce. The thing is about a foot and a half tall, and we haven’t touched it. We are just letting it do its thing.

    I am aware that it is a weed, and I am also aware that if I touch this plant, it will be the beginning of its end. But we have something growing in a pot that is meant to grow things… so… we’re going to let this thing go, and see what happens. This will be our Summer Growing Project.

  • Today’s Sketchbook Drawing

  • ODDS and ENDS: It’s Summer, Career Day, and Old Ladies

    (Remain in the light, please.)

    We are running the air conditioner in the apartment now, which means it’s officially Summer for us. Sure it would be nice to jump into a pool, do some grilling, and drink a beer and watch the Cubs play. I took my shorts out of storage, and also took my ghost white legs out as well. Looking forward to awkward farmer-esk tan lines, and getting a sunburn on the top if my head. It’s not all bad. Summer does mean travel, and fun, and camp, and mini golf, and disc golf, and road trips, and seeing family and friends. I am not a fan of the heat, but I am looking froward to this Summer

    It’s Career Day at my kids school, which means that the students can come to class dressed up as their future careers. My daughter decided that her future career will be as an artist. I asked, what does an artist wear? Her answer; Whatever I want.

    They’re destroying New York City. Yes, little old ladies. They have no respect for anyone, are rude, obnoxious, and give their opinions when no one is asking for it. They’ll hit you with their canes and granny carts, and dare you to do something. But we all know that no one will do anything to a little old lady. Those old ladies are untouchable in this town, and they all know it, and use it against the rest of us. We are being held hostage in our own home. I’m not kidding. In every borough, the old ladies are the worst.