Trying to stay updated

I'm sure that most of you reading this will not be surprised by the way this post begins. I haven't posted in a while. With the exception of Laboratory Tested, most of the blogs I read are not being updated very often either.

However, since the few people who read my blog on occasion continue to berate me for not updating often enough, I'm trying once again to get back on the wagon and update at least once or twice a week. So here are a few items of interesting in my recent life.

Facebook:

Most of my blogger friends are spending alot of time on Facebook now, so being the follower that I am, I've gotten sucked into it as well. Now that I'm actually using it, I'm surprised at its usefulness. It's not at all like what I thought it would be, and I've already started reconnecting with people that I have grown farther apart from in recent years. However, it doesn't give me the ability to really keep people informed of what's going on in my life like I thought it would. A blog, for all its self-indulgence, is still the better tool for that.

Upcoming trips:

Well, first of all there is the standard Xmas trip coming up. We'll be heading up to my folks' place for the holiday. Then I've got a whole week off to do nothing until after the first of the year. I'm hoping I won't just sit on my ass and play video games the whole time, but the Xbox is so . . . demanding.

Anyway, the next trip after that is a short jaunt up to DC to visit some dear friends. I'm really looking forward to that. Getting to meet my friend's new animal companion, eating great food, and seeing some sights. After that, it's going to be all about saving up time and money for, hopefully, a trip to Europe in the fall.

Upcoming events:

I've spent too much money on getting to see some great shows coming up in February. One weekend, we're going to see Ron White at the Paramount theater. I'm really looking forward to seeing him. He's the only Blue Collar comedian that I think has real talent. And he's in the prime of his career, or so it seems.

The other big event may not be worth the money, but it is still something that the wife and I are both really looking forward to. We're going to get to see Robin Williams performing live at the Frank Irwin Center. It's not going to be quite like seeing him in the 80s when he was in his prime, but I've almost never been disappointed by one of his performances. Almost never. I guess we'll see.

Well, that's about all for now. More updates to follow. Hopefully.

Achieving . . . Equilibrium

There are certain tragedies in this world.

I suppose that in the grand scheme of things, this particular "tragedy" is not truly worthy of its moniker. But in life, some small things often seem far more important than the really big things.

So that is why I can describe the way that a certain piece of cinematic art is a tragedy, in that it was so egregiously overlooked by American movie audiences, and insomuch as it has taken me so long to partake of it myself. It should also be noted that there will be further tragedy in this post because I simply do not feel myself adequate as a movie reviewer and therefore truly unable to impart to you the awesomeness that is the movie: Equilibrium.

Let me begin by saying that one of the truly astounding things about the movie Equilibrium is that it is helmed by director Kurt Wimmer, who is also its writer. The reason it is astounding is because he will probably be best remembered, or perhaps best forgotten, for the unbelievable dud that was Ultraviolet. Apparently, between the making of the grand piece of art that was Equilibrium and the sad piece of dreck that was Ultraviolet, Wimmer suffered a stroke, or massive brain hemorrhage, or was abducted and lobotomized by aliens or something.

At any rate, this much earlier film has all the hallmarks of a true sci-fi masterpiece. Lets look at a few ingredients.

First, we begin with the Dark Knight himself, Christian Bale. It was, in fact, Bale's appearance in this film that prompted my good friend Mark to recommend it for my viewing. I vaguely remember seeing its cover grace the shelves of the local Blockbuster, but I overlooked it, just as the rest of Amurka seemed to. Anyway, we then immediately sprinkle in just a dash of Boromir, er Richard Sharpe, I mean, that is to say, Sean Bean. Oh poor Sean. The British Isles turn out so many grand actors, women and men who dwarf most of their American counterparts, and yet they only seem to get noticed when they affect a mid-western accent. (For those of you who don't know, Christian Bale is Welsh. That's right, Batman is a friggin' limey.)

Now having said that we should not overlook the excellent seasoning provided by Taye Diggs. This guys is just top to bottom a solid actor. And he looks really good in a black trench coat. But, then again, who doesn't?

Let's see now, where are we? Right. Next we add equal parts of Fahrenheit 451, 1984, and The Matrix. I'm sure that in my lack of real film knowledge, I'm leaving out some other critical film or literary influence that few people are familiar with, but we can always add a dash of a few other things from our spice rack: The Crow, Brazil, Dark City, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

If all of these films and books did not influence the film, then they at least were called to my mind by it. We see a vision of a future utopia, where anger, hate and fear are a thing of the past, along with war, murder, jealousy, and all the other negative emotions, through the widespread application of a drug which suppresses human emotions. Of course, as is often the case, we see that this utopia is truly a distopia, as the drug not only suppresses these negative emotions, but also the emotion of love, the appreciation of beauty, art, and everything that makes humans . . . human.

Our hero, John Preston, aka Bruce Wayne, er Christian Bale, is the most elite of the ultra-elite group of Clerics whose job it is to hunt down and "combust" those fringe elements who refuse to be drugged into a state of unfeeling stupor. After witnessing his long-time partner's downfall at the hands of William Butler Yeats (oh just google it), he, somewhat predictably, begins his own exploration of outlawed emotion.

It sounds, at first, as if this is going to be a predictable story-line that will play out in predictable ways. And in some ways, it does. But what sets it apart from a whole host of other futuristic films is the patience way that the direct brings us along on his protagonist's journey of discovery. Think about the first time you heard a Beethoven symphony. Remember what it felt like the first time you touch a lover's skin. What did you feel the first time you watched the sun rise, especially if you had watched that same sun set the night before. Our hero is finds himself feeling all of these emotions washing over him in rapid succession, all while trying not to display them to his fellow clerics.

It's a powerful piece of film-making. And when you throw in some incredible fight sequences, the "gun kata" and, yes, even puppy dogs (believe me, it seems trite, but it was one of the most powerful scenes in the film), one is left with a feeling that a terrible miscarriage of justice was done. That this film is not well known, that it is not spoken of with reverence by every sci-fi geek you've ever met, that it is not listed among the greats like Blade Runner and The Wrath of Kahn, well . . . perhaps time will be kind to it and it will find itself becoming a true cult favorite.

As for me, I know it's going to find a place of honor among my DVD collection. I don't expect any of you to take my word for it, after all, I am the guy who liked Walk Hard and who has all five seasons of ATHF, but I hope that you will take the time to see this lovely piece of celluloid.

And I dare you not to feel something, anything, when you watch it.

@#$% NBC in their #$%@ing goat mother@#$%ing asses

How many cool Olympic sports are there? huh?

Archery, fencing, shooting, judo, taekwondo, kayaking, rowing, equestrian . . .

And out of all the hours and hours of programming NBf-ingC is broadcasting, what is the only thing I can find?

Soccer and volleyball.

Using their online schedule is like trying to solve a Rubik's cube, and when you finally do find the listings for men's and women's individual foil quarterfinals, what do you find? It's only online.

So @#$% NBC. @#$% them right in their corporate, totalitarian-government loving, IOC-fellating, mother@#$%ing goat asses.

There. I feel better.

Update No. 60.194.82.1

No, the numbers don't mean anything. It's like the stardate on Star Trek.
But my brain is a little fried right now, so I was trying to come up with something witty. Eh.

So, family first. Right now I'm sitting in Pitt Memorial Hospital in Greenville, North Carolina. I was supposed to be on a plane heading back to Austin, but we'll get to that in a moment. The reason that I am in a hospital in North Carolina is because that is where our new niece is. Michelle's sister-in-law was well on her way to a perfect pregnancy when she developed pre-eclampsia [sic]. I don't know if that's the right spelling, but I do know it's a very bad thing. Basically, it meant the baby had to come out way sooner than it should have or both of them would be lost.

The good news is that SIL is now fine, and the baby is doing as well as can be expected right now, which is pretty well for being two months pre-mature and teensy tiny. But she's a precious little thing and there are enough prayers and positive waves heading her way that I don't think there's anyway she's not going to be fantastically fine.

We flew up here late Thursday night and spent the last couple of days with Michelle's brother and sister-in-law. We were supposed to fly back today at about three, but modern-day commercial air travel being what it is, a little bit of bad weather at a key point means that we are not flying back until the butt-crack of dawn in the morning. So, we're taking advantage of the time to visit the baby again. Which really just consists of standing next to her pod while she sleeps.

But it's worth it.

Dammit George

What did I ever do to you, huh??

That's right, just like Lenny in Mice and Men, George has once again taken a piece of my childhood and crushed in his meaty CGI inflated hands.

I should have expected this from Lucas. But I never thought that Spielberg would be complicit in such mutilation.

So, if you haven't figured it out by now, I just got back from seeing Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull. It pains me to say it; it's like daggers for me to admit it, because even though we all know that the Temple of Doom has, up until now, been the low point of the Indy trilogy, this movie brings a new nadir. At least in my humble opinion.

I will admit upfront that this movie did have it's moments, many of them delivered by Shia Lebouf [sic] (man, that kid's gotta get a better screen name). I won't give them away here, because I'm sure many of you haven't seen the movie yet, and I'd like to let you unearth the rare artifacts of goodness in this sad parody of a classic movie trilogy.

I thought Harrison Ford's performance was okay. But come on, he's getting up there. The early Gen Xers can claim that 40 is the new 20, and the Boomers can claim that 60 is the new 40, but ol' Harrison just isn't the Indy/Solo that we used to know. We still love him, but he's not pulling down any 19-year-old Carrie Fisher ass anymore and you know it!

But that wasn't the real problem with the movie. The problem with the movie is that once again, George Lucas's abilities far outstrip his movie-making wisdom. He never learned the lesson that just because on CAN do a thing, it doesn't mean that one SHOULD. What I always liked about the Indiana Jones movies was that, even though they were full of insane and, yes, unlikely stunts, and even though they always hinged on an element of the occult and paranormal, the movies had about them a kind of gritty reality that made you think maybe, just maybe, there really was something to all those old myths and legends buried in the desert sands.

In the past, we sat down with our popcorn and feasted on far away destinations: Cairo, Calcutta, Hong Kong, Venice, Alexandria. Even the parts of them that were recreated on sound stages looked realistic and had a depth that sucked you in. Not so with this film. None of the locations looked real to me. The jungle scenes were too perfect to be anything but blue-screened backgrounds. The action sequences seemed to be the same old rehashed memes that we seen in too many adventure films. Nothing seemed that innovative or provocative. And the ultimate ending, which I am doing my best not to spoil, was a tired old piece of tripe lugged out from one too many tin-foil hat, pseudo-scientific, Ripley's Believe it or Not craptacular late-night History Channel filler programs.

And not even replacing the Nazis with KGB agents fulfilled all the full promise that it could have. I love Cate Blanchett (again [sic]), but she really did give a sub-standard Boris and Natasha kind of Russian agent performance.

There are just so many places they could have gone. Yes, Indy did a lot of work in Egypt, but there are still alot of archaeological veins to tap in the middle east. What about an ancient Mesopotamian myth, or even, if you wanted to deal with Soviets in 1957, something to do with vampires in the Carpathians. Or even bring Indy a little closer to home and follow the Arthurian vein. Instead of the Holy Grail, he could have gone in search of Excalibur. So many possibilities wasted for something that would have been better suited to the upcoming X-files movie. But there, I think I've said to much.

All-in-all, my recommendation would be not so see this movie in the theater. Save your 10 bucks and Netflix it (or Blockbuster it, or whatever). You won't really be missing out on anything.

I'm going to go cry myself to sleep now.

DAMN YOU, GEORGE LUCAAAAAAASSSSSSS!!!!!!!!

He will join us . . . or die

The dark side . . .
It consumes me . . .

I couldn't help myself. It was just there, calling me. Such clean, simple lines. When I picked it up, the weight of it was surprising. Just a box, and yet, within it's depths, such wonders. It's glossy surface intrigued me, it's colors seeming to shift beneath my gaze. I clutched it to my chest and stumbled from the temple. The temple of eternal light wherein the clergy of the everlasting electron perform their esoteric rites, taking the offerings of the hopeful and blessing them with the totems of the gods.

I hurried back to my abode and huddled in the center of my living room, in front of the great altar. The sweat began to bead on my forehead as I broke the seals on the holy container, my fingers trembling ever so slightly as I lifted the lid and saw what lay within. So many cables, like little bits of gut curled inside some alien beast. Did they pulse when my fingers touched them? I ripped into it like a beast on its fallen prey. Before long, the viscera of cardboard and plastic baggies lay strewn about me. But the heart of glory stood at my feet. I caressed it so gently, lovingly; I began the surgery. I would meld this thing with my altar, make it one with the place of worship I had constructed so painstakingly over the course of the years. And when it was done, when the rites were complete, I made my obeisance to the gods and gave it life.

Instantly, a brilliance washed over me. Light. Color. So intense, so crystal clear, it pulsed in my brain, sucking at my very soul, but filling me as well. I fought for control, I fought to maintain the balance. It has me. I know now that it will forever call to me. I must battle this thing for all time, fight to maintain that razor edge between ecstasy and torment.

What have I done?
What creature of damnation and Hell-fire have I unleashed??

I...bought...

...

an Xbox.

God help me...

I can haz nefu?

Indeed, I can!!

It is my pleasure to announce to you, my dear readers, the birth of my nephew, Caleb Alexander, born this day the Twenty-Fourth of April in the year of our Lord Two Thousand Eight.

Here's the stats:
Weight: 7lbs 5oz
Height: 20.25 inches
Fingers: 10
Toes: 10
Awesomeness: Complete

The only pic I have as yet is a little small and grainy. I'm assuming it was a camera phone. But here it is. Of course, the LOL elements were added by me. Just for grins.

...the day after

I'm not going to be drinking whiskey ever again.

Okay, at least not for the rest of the week.

I don't do hangover's very well. I spent several hours this morning praying for Death's sweet release, knowing it would not come.

On the other hand, it's an interesting position to read a post on my own blog, and feel like I'm reading it for the first time.

Sorry for inflicting that one you.

Although my recommendations still stand.

TTFN,
MST

God... I am such a geek

I can't help it really.

This is the first time I have gotten really, and I mean REALLY drunk, comma, in quite a while. I didn't realize, until recently, that Knob Creek whiskey was a product of our nice ol' Kentucky friends over at the Jim Beam distillery. God, I lurv those guys.

Anyway, I'm pretty drunk, and I think it's HILARIOUS to blog when I'm drunk.

So here it goes. I was watching season 1 of Rome. I think it's a great series by HBO. It ranks right up there with Showtime's series "The Tudors". I can't wait til season two of that comes out on DVD.

But now that I've finished the second disc of Rome, I decided to watch, drunk as I am, good ol' Kenneth Brannagh's version of "Henry V". Ah, I have such memories of this play. When I was in grad school, my very good friends and I took a course by one of the most brilliant professors in the field of Shakespearean drama, little ol' Douglas Brooks. We spent weeks developing a scholarly edition of the St. Crispin's Day speech from said play. And so it stands dearly in my heart.

Thus, I popped it into yon DVD player as I am very, VERY drunk on premium whiskey. And thus in such state of veritable bliss, I noticed in passing that the part of "Boy" was played by none other than the very Dark Knight himself. That's right. The man who appeared in Stephen Spielburg's "Empire of the Sun". The inimitable Christian Bale. God. That guy is such a good actor. He couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen years old. What I wouldn't give to be in his place. I always dreamed of acting Shakespeare on the stage.

Anyway. I give you now the greatest recommendation that I can of any film adaptation. Check out Branagh's "Henry V". There is simply no play in the world that can be bad if it's got Brian Blessed in it. I dare you not get chills when he looks right in the camera and says: "Bloody CONSTRAINT!!"

I'm gonna go sleep it off now.

Love you all,
MST

Upadate:
Lest we not forget, other great British actors, at least those that I know if. Don't overlook anything with these actors:
Christian Bale
Dereck Jacobi
Brian Blessed
Dame Judy Dench
(okay, she's not in it, but I still also love Maggie Smith (Professor McGonnagle, for the win))

I'm really not looking forward to the hangover tomorrow...

KUT is dead to me...

Okay, at least for the next week or so.
For those of you not reading this in Austin, KUT is our local public radio station.

My morning listening routine usually consists of listening to Jason and Deb on 101X as Michelle and I get ready. In fact we have both developed an unhealthy addiction to that morning show, but that's another post.

Anyway, on my way to work in the car, I usually switch between 101X and KUT so that I can get the news of the day from NPR. Unfortunately, this week is KUT's annual give-us-some-fucking-money-cause-the-fucking-republicans-took-it-all-away drive.

Which means I can't listen to KUT this week. I mean, I pay my taxes, I vote for the people who fund public radio and television, and I even manned the phone banks once for the PBS station in College Station. I know this sounds really selfish of me, but I've already PAID for NPR. Through my taxes.

They've started this line of begging where they say, "Oh, don't you love the in depth reporting we do, like when we spent 600 straight hours telling you about every last person who lost their house in Katrina? If so, then you need to pay us for that!"

No, no I don't. Because it's PUBLIC FUCKING RADIO!! That's the whole point. I don't have to pay for it. If I paid for it, it would be Sirius. Or it would be cable. Besides, even if I did give you fifty bucks, it would be a drop in the bucket next to the corporate donations you already get, so that those corporations can get more write-offs. And I'd still have to listen to the longer and longer sponsor ID cuts in between stories. I know that ArcherDanielsMidland is the supermarket to the world, or what have you. I also notice that I haven't heard any investigative reports about how they are raping the environment lately. Curious, no?

So, instead of getting to listen to actual news when I switch over from 101X because they're playing the same Foo Fighter's song for the hundredth time in a row, or because I don't want to listen to that stupid titty-bar commercial again, I am forced to listen to the local KUT voice talent saying how much they enjoyed bringing you a thirty-minute retrospective on local washboard players.

So, please, for the love of gods, vote for people who will fund NPR and PBS at higher levels. So that I can listen to that cranky sports guys on Wednesday without hearing him beg for money.

TTFN,
MST

Mo' money, mo' problems

I promised myself that I would try and blog more, so here I am. Blogging.

I hate just blogging for the sake of blogging, but I guess I'll try. If you don't get completely bored by my life, the way I am, I guess it'll work.

I've been working on a budget. Again.

I attempt this every so often, because my wife and I are both horrendous with money. Oh, we follow the old axiom of "Pay yourself first", of course. We've got the requisite 401K, state retirement account, Roth IRAs, savings account, etc. But now that our credit cards are payed off, along with our cars, we've got more disposable income than either of us ever thought we'd have at this point in our lives.

And we spend it. Frivolously. At least, that's the way I feel about it.
So, every now and then, I attempt to sit down and create a budget. I figure that if we put most of this disposable income into savings each month, then by the end of the year, I would be able to buy myself a brand new car and pay cash for it. No more car payments. And in another year after that, we could afford to go anywhere in the world that we want to go and spend as much time there as our limited vacation time will allow.

The only problem is that I have far more good intentions than I seem to have follow-through ability. And Michelle is as bad as I am.

Still, I will try once more, just like with dieting. Maybe it'll stick this time.

Mark put me onto a really good website, as well. www.mint.com

It's more or less a free, online version of Quicken, or similar expensive money-managing software. You log onto the site, connect through it to the secure servers at your various accounts, and the program gathers your transactions and categorizes them into wonderful little pie charts, average comparisons, and budgets.

Mark assures me that it is all very secure, and I trust him on these things. The only thing he obsesses about as much as computers and Street Fighter is his money. And so far it works pretty well. I need to feed it some more info, but already, Michelle and I can see where we're pissing away all of our money.

Well, that's enough about dirty, sexy money for one night.

TTFN

I'm so gay sometimes

I don't usually post from work, but this will be a quick one.

So I was logging into Rhapsody last night, and I saw that Kylie Minogue has a new album out, entitled simply X. Just for esses and gees, I put it on.

And here's how I know I'm gay.

I REALLY LIKE IT!!

Especially the track "No More Rain".

I recommend giving it a listen, if you like that kind of thing.

And no, I don't you to set me up with that new receptionist, no matter how cute he is.

Too many question . . . no answers

So, it seems like lately, there are lots of things that are making me unhappy.

Well, unhappy is maybe too strong a word. Annoyances, frustrations, uncertainties; I'm not sure if these are better terms either.

I haven't been blogging, because I'm not sure that anyone else wants to hear about these nagging doubts, these incessant gadflies, the little things that add up to a general sense of discontentment in my daily life. But, since I don't really have anything else I feel like talking about this night, I guess you're stuck with it.

I guess the problem is that I feel, just, locked in. Like I've settled in to a life and it would be just too much trouble to try and break out. And then there's the fear. Frankly, it's not fear for myself. But I feel like I have to maintain this lifestyle for Michelle's sake. She says that she doesn't care, that all of these things we enjoy and spend money on are not that important, but she seems happy. Or maybe that's a front as well...

Take, for instance, our house. Now, it's a lovely house. And I like it. When we first moved in, I LOVED it. But over the last few years, the polish has worn off a little, and I see all the little things that I was too inexperienced to realize at the time would drive me nuts. Like the slope of the yard that makes it impossible to sit in a chair on the grass. Not that you would want to, because it faces the west and heats up to a thousand degrees every afternoon as soon as the weather warms up. Or the multi-story thing. Which I thought would be super fun, not having grown up in a house with multiple stories. But it's impossible to control the temperature correctly between the upstairs and downstairs.

Or the fact that, now that I have to live in it, I realize that a blind chimpanzee was responsible for designing the layout of the living room. And then there's the neighborhood.

It's a great neighborhood, don't get me wrong. And I thought it would be great to live there. In fact, when I was a kid, this is exactly the kind of neighborhood that I dreamed about living in. But I'm not a kid anymore. I don't have any friends to ride my bike down the street and hang out with. Everyone here is either much older than us, or they have little kids, and we have nothing in common with them. I dream of having a cool couple move in next door who are looking for another couple to hang out with on the weekends. That's a whole 'nother post, though...

The point is, here I am living in the suburbs, like I dreamed about as a kid. I grew up in the sticks, and couldn't hang out with any of my friends, because they all lived in town and during the summer I was mostly isolated. It wasn't until I was a teenager and got a car, that I could really got out and do stuff with friends.

Okay, so I should get to the point before you all completely abandon this post.
Except, I don't think I have a point.

Well, okay, here's the point. I hate living in the suburbs. I feel like such a tool living here. I come home and pull into my cul-de-sac after a 45 minute commute, and I have to weave around all the cars, because everybody here has, like, three cars in parked around their house. I feel closed in, with my tiny yard, my tiny garage, my tiny driveway. I just long to fell open space around me.

And that's my first conundrum. What do I do about it? Part of me thinks it would be cool to sell the house and buy a really overpriced apartment downtown. Would it be open spaces? No. But at least then, I would feel like I was more connected to the city. I could walk to the grocery store. Take the bus to work. Walk down to the clubs and hip restaurants, and not have to worry about driving home. And perhaps we could afford a little honeycomb up in the sky, where we felt like we could look down on the world and just take it all in.

Or we could look for a place far outside of town. Fifty or sixty acres, full of trees , with a couple of ponds, maybe a creek. Someplace I could raise some horses, or maybe some little burros. Or even goats. I could really have a reason to drive a pickup. I could buy a tractor. I could go out on my porch in the evening and smell the dew coming up on the grass; feel like I could really put down roots and make a life. Build something.

But instead of either of those, I am stuck in the middle. Stuck in suburban hell. Stuck in mediocrity. And that's the way I feel about my whole life right now. And I don't know what the frak to do about it.

Perhaps this is not the right place to vent these issues. I'm not sure you guys really want to listen to my shit. But there it is. It's what's going on in my brain right now.

Thanks for listening.

Am I back?

"You never write . . . "
"Are you there?"
"Update you f***ing blog!!!"

I'm not sure that anyone is left to read this.

I have no idea how long it has been since I posted an entry to this blog. To be honest, I'm afraid to look.

I don't know what has happened to me. I wouldn't call it writers block. I certainly wouldn't call it a lack of ideas. I have ideas bouncing around in my head all day long. I mean, it's really crowded in there. I wouldn't even call it laziness. I haven't been lax about other things lately. I've been dieting, I've been traveling for work, I've been exercising several nights a week; hell, I even built a wine rack. From scratch!

There's a metaphor that comes to mind, though, from back in the days when I lived on a ranch and helped my grandfather work cattle. We would get a bunch of cows in triangular shaped pen, like a big funnel. At the small end of the pen, there's a chute. It's the only way out of the pen. Now, the cow's don't want to be in the pen. We're doing things that cause them anxiety, like spraying them with chemicals. They want to be there, and there is only one way out.

But here's the problem: THEY WON'T TAKE THE ONE WAY OUT! No matter what we tried to do, when we got them near to exit, they would balk. They would turn back to the crowded pen rather than go down the cramped chute, into the unknown. Sometimes it would take us hours to get them out of the pen and down the chute. It was frustrating and just made you want to quit and go home.

Now, what does this have to do with my writing?

Well, the thoughts in my head are like cattle in the pen. They go around and around, but when they get near the outlet, they seem to balk. I have so many ideas for stories, but when I sit down to let them out, they balk. It's frustrating, and it makes me just want to quit and go home.

But here's the thing about working with cattle. You have to have patience. If you let them balk, and don't get them down that chute, even if it takes all day, then you might as well give up on working them anymore. Once they learn that you won't make them go through with it, they never will go down that chute.

So, I won't give up. Maybe I won't ever produce a novel. But I must continue to write, as so many of you have urged me to do time and again.

Please be patient. If I can just get the ideas headed down the chute, maybe you won't be disappointed.

Talk to you again soon, friends.