Tag Archives: lame post

What Would Virginia Woolf Do?

Yes, I am having a bad blogging week.  Other things aren’t going so well either, but that’s neither here nor there (here’s a question to ponder:  when something is neither here nor there, where is it?  Discuss amongst yourselves) (my computer seems to think “amongst” is not a word, but it is, isn’t it?)

People who read yesterday’s post may be pleased to hear that I did get a clue.  Two clues, in fact, maybe even three if you count pointing up a character trait of the victim.  I think it counts.  As for what the clues are… nice try!  I’m not giving anything away!  Come and see the show!

So I spent my time at work pondering these clues and writing them down as soon as I got on break.  And then I found that I had no clue (see what I did there?) about what to write a blog post about.  Could I dare do a Non-Sequitur Thursday after a Tired Tuesday and a Wuss-out Wednesday?  We all know the answer to that is yes.

I actually did have some Mohawk Valley adventures last Saturday, with my sister Cheryl and our friend Penny.  We went to Little Falls, NY.  Highlights included Paca Gardens, Fall Hill Bead and Gems and, on our return to Herkimer, Gems Along the Mohawk.  Why in the world should I not write about these delightful places?  Well perhaps I will.  For one reason, I work Saturday so Lame Post Friday is rendered… inappropriate.

Therefore, I shall try for a real post tomorrow.  In the meantime, thank you for participating, and Happy Thursday.

 

Nothing Wise or Profound

I’m afraid today is Tired Tuesday.  I did start writing one thing while at work today, but is just isn’t going to work out.  You see, a terrible news story is occupying my mind and my emotions.  I knew I wouldn’t come up with anything profound or wise, but I thought I could say something.  It turns out that I can’t.

People always advise you to write about what’s bothering you.  I used to try, but it never helped.  I usually just got more upset as I articulated my problems.  I don’t think I’m that persuasive a writer, but I sure managed to persuade myself.  Go figure.

Years later I read in Ernest Hemingway’s A Movable Feast how he could write about Minnesota (I think) in Paris, but he could not write about Paris while he was there.  I don’t have the exact quote, because it’s been years since I’ve read it.  I must purchase a copy to have.  I read a similar thought in Natalie Goldman’s Writing Down The Bones.  She said you couldn’t write about being in love when you were in the first throes of infatuation:  all you want to write is, “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love.”  That quote I could look up, because I own that book, but I’m just too, you guessed it, tired.

So even if I was wise and profound (we all know I’m not), I probably could not come up with something wise and profound at this point.  According to Hemingway and Goldberg, I could potentially write about something I felt or experienced years ago.  I’ll try that tomorrow.  I won’t promise wisdom or profundity, of course, but I’ll try not to be lame till Friday.

 

My Computer Thinks “Profferer” Is Not a Word

There are a few things in life you can pretty much count on.  Not invariably, of course, but most of the time.  If you open and close scissors near a person’s hair, they will probably get nervous.  If you say, “Sometimes you feel like a nut,” the other person will probably say, “Sometimes you don’t.”  If I have to be somewhere in the evening and want to get my blog post done first, I will probably not write anything ahead of time while on break at work.

Welcome to Non-Sequitur Thursday.

So yesterday I wrote a post about writing and today I write a post about not writing.  Is that so bad?  I suppose some people will think it is while others cut me a break.  File that under another one of those things in life you can count on.

I must soon head out to pick up my husband Steven (I specify the relationship for the benefit of new readers, if any) and head to the monthly dinner meeting of Ilion Little Theatre.  Of course I’m hungry NOW, so I just ate a few pretzels and drank a glass of milk.  I find it difficult to write on an empty stomach.  I know, I know, I’m not doing so hot after the snack either.

When I got home from work about an hour and a half ago, I walked down to Steven’s place of employment and got his vehicle, which I then drove home.  It was not too cold until a bitter wind began to blow.  Also, the sidewalks were rather treacherous with uneven ice,  some of it deceptively covered with snow.  Some profferers of advice to writers insist that adverbs are horrid words and must be avoided assiduously (see what I did there?).  I disagree.

As I approach 300 words, I think it is clear that I am not going to come up with anything particularly noteworthy to say.  However, I just thought of a headline.  Tune in tomorrow, when Mohawk Valley Girl will once again explain that she did not write anything while on break at work.

 

Tuna Noodle Casserole

It is the first Friday of Lent.  Catholics eat fish on Fridays during Lent.  So do a lot of other people, actually, because some places serve awesome fish fry.  In fact, our original plan was to seek one out, which perhaps would have made a better blog post.

OK, I’m kind of babbling on, because it is Lame Post Friday.  Full disclosure:  before I ate my tuna noodle casserole, I had a glass of wine.  I nibbled some bread and guacamole first, so as not to have an empty stomach, but I’m afraid it kind of sort of went a little to my head.  What the hell, it’s Friday.

Steven and I are about to pop in a classic comedy, His Girl Friday, starring Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant.  There are also a few supporting players we know from other flicks.  Steven purchased our original copy from Woolworth in Massena, NY for, I think, $3, in 1990.  This was the early days of VHS.  It was before the $5 bin at Wal-Mart.  We later learned the cheap price was because the film was in public domain, and ours was a truly dreadful copy.  Still, we had it for years and watched it many times.  Now we have it on DVD, complete with special subtitles and special features, neither of which we ever take advantage of.

So this is my Friday Lame Post.  A mere slice of my life.  Dinner and a movie in the Quackenbush household.  I hope you are all having a lovely Friday yourselves.

 

I Don’t Feel Particularly Up and Coming

For this week’s Non-Sequitur Thursday, I shall take a break from last Saturday’s adventures and look ahead to a future adventure for me:  I am slated to direct a play for Ilion Little Theatre.  The only writing I did while at work today (sue me) was a press release on the upcoming auditions.  I make bold to include it here:

“Ilion Little Theatre will hold auditions for Ken Ludwig’s Leading Ladies on Monday and Tuesday, Feb. 29 and March 1 at 6:30 p.m. at the theatre in The Stables on Remington Avenue in Ilion.  Five men and three women ranging in age from 20s to 70s are needed.  Actors do not need to prepare anything.  ILT member Cynthia Quackenbush will direct.

“The hilarious comedy concerns two down on their luck Shakespearean actors who come up with a scheme to impersonate a rich old lady’s nephews to gain an inheritance. When they find out that nieces not nephews are required, they make a slight adjustment in plans.  After all, in early Shakespearean companies, weren’t the women’s roles played by men?

“Performance dates are Friday and Saturday April 29 and 30, May 6 and 7 at 8 p.m. with matinees on Sunday May 1 and 8 at 2 p.m.  For more information contact Cynthia Quackenbush at ***-***-****.”

I confess to feeling a little overblown, calling it a hilarious comedy.  It is pretty hilarious, though.  I laughed out loud when I was reading the script.  I confess further that it seems to me to be a pretty boring blog post.  Sorry, kids, Aunt Cindy is having a bad day (I like to call myself “Aunt Cindy” when I am having a bad day).  But I am trying to keep a cheerful heart.  After all, tomorrow is Lame Post Friday.  As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

 

Is It a Saying or a Cliche?

Another common saying revisited:   Pull yourself up by your bootstraps.

I once heard somebody say it was a good way to land on your ass.  Ain’t that the truth!

I’m not saying you will inevitably land on your ass.  However, it seems to me you’d better have strong bootstraps, killer abs, and a completely non-stick surface.  Of course you might have these things and you may, indeed, make the bootstrap thing work.

Yes, I know it is just an expression.  It means, if I am not mistaken, that rather than wallow in your problems you can use your own power to overcome them or, to return to the metaphor, rise above them.  However (still in the metaphor), I’m thinking there are easier ways to rise.

For example, you might push yourself up, maybe even rolling over onto your front side to get more power from your arms.  Tis would work best if you are on a clean, dry surface rather than a muddy, mucky one. In other words, it depends on the problem.  Maybe sometimes it is better to not worry about presenting the tough, I-got-this-covered persona and just get up the best way you can.

You could also pull yourself up.  This, of course, requires something sturdy and firmly fastened to pull on, for example, a strong rope tied by a square knot to a solid wall.  How did the rope get there, you may ask?  Well, maybe you put it there earlier, in case of just such an emergency.  Maybe it just happened to be there.  Maybe a friend put it there.

Ah yes, my favorite aid to rising above our problems:  the hand of a friend.

Some may argue that this is not necessarily reliable, or that it is far better to depend only on one’s self, or that it is foolish to spend so much time and energy dissecting an old metaphor that few people use any more anyways.

There may be merit to these arguments.  I don’t know; I’m no genius.  I’m just a silly blogger enjoying Lame Post Friday.  Have a marvelous weekend, everyone.

 

Waiting for 19 Crimes

I thought I would take today’s Friday Lame Post to give an update on my 30 Days Without Wine.  Or you may call it 30 Days of Whine, although I must confess to doing more than my fair share of kvetching even with the wine.  Be that as it may, this is Day 27.  Yes, I’ve been counting.  How else would I know when I got to 30?

Earlier today the little devil on my shoulder (you know, like in the cartoons, when the character has a little version of himself in horns on one shoulder and one with a halo on the other?) kept saying, “27 is practically 30.  Aren’t you being a little anal retentive about this?” She went on to say, “Anyways, isn’t this no alcohol thing a bit self-aggrandizing?  Just another way of calling attention to yourself? Shouldn’t you just get over yourself and have a beer?”  I didn’t even know she knew the word “self-aggrandizing.”

The Devil Me would probably also call me out on thinking something magical might happen if I go all 30 days.  How illogical and immature, she would say.  Of course I stopped listening to that bitch when I remembered she is also the one who thinks I’m such a terrible writer.

The Angel on my other shoulder did not contribute a whole lot to the discussion.  She merely pointed out that while PROBABLY nothing magical would happen on Day 30, how would I know if I didn’t wait that long?  Anyways, there isn’t a bottle of dry red in the house, and that is what I chiefly feel like drinking.  For Day 31 I have promised myself a bottle of 19 Crimes, one of my favorites.  I think that’s worth waiting three more days for.

Right now I am reinforcing my dry behavior by watching World’s Dumbest Partiers (why is my computer underlining “partiers”?  That must be a word! What else would you call these people?).  I don’t imagine the one little glass of 19 Crimes I intend to have on Tuesday will cause me to act like one of those guys.  However, if it does, I promise to write a blog post about it.

 

Wrong Writing on Wuss-out Wednesday

Sometimes you don’t have a reason to feel the way you feel.  Sometimes you just feel a certain way and you just have to keep feeling that way until you don’t feel that way any more.

Yes, it is Wuss-out Wednesday, and this is Yet Another Post About How I Can’t Write A Post.  On the brighter side, I  do not intend to go on an on about how it makes me FEEL.  Don’t you just hate it when people go on and on about their feelings?  Oh yeah, like YOU never do it!

Where was I?

I spent all day trying to think about something to write for a blog post.  Sometimes, for a change of pace, I thought about that novel I started to write a couple of years ago that I VOWED I would finish.  Remember that novel?  Remember Finish That Novel May?  That was, of course, last May.  The novel still isn’t finished.  However, I remembered a trick I read about re-energizing a stalled novel.  You write a brief summary about the story as a whole, perhaps in the form of a rave review or a book flap blurb.  I tried it.  I’m not sure it worked, but I wrote a page anyways.

As I have stated on this blog before, any writing counts.  My problem now is to get to the RIGHT writing.  My novel.  The murder mystery script.  A better blog post.  We’ll see what I can come up with on Non-Sequitur Thursday.

 

Mid-Winter Wrist

Is it the Mid-Winter Blahs, the Mid-Winter Blues, or just a common or garden Wrist to Forehead Sunday? I’m hoping it’s the third one, because tomorrow it will not be Sunday any more, but winter will last at least a couple of months more.

In other words, anybody who was hoping for a post of any substance from me today is doomed to disappointment.

I was ambitious enough earlier to drive to Chadwicks for church with some members of my family, notably my most adorable year-old great nephew.  He was quite interested in pulling my necklace.  I had taken the precaution of putting on a long strand of fairly tough beads in case of just such an emergency.

It was a fine drive over Higby Road to Graffenburg (oh dear, I’m not sure if it’s Graffenburg or Graffenberg; another reason to make the wrist-to-forehead pose).  Bare roads, not too windy.  We went to Salvatore’s in Washington Mills for breakfast after church, so my drive home was all Higby.  Nice views.  One day perhaps I’ll have a camera and can share some of the sights I see.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that before church I did the dishes, often the extent of my Sunday ambition (if in fact my Sunday ambition extends that far; it doesn’t always).  I did not dry and put them away, of course.  Waste energy drying dishes?  That’s crazy talk!  Anyways, by that time I had to get ready for church.

And now I’m over 200 words.  Hmmm…. This seems to me more like a Scattered Sunday than Wrist to Forehead. No matter, in the blogiverse (you know, like universe.  I think I’ve gotten too big for the blogosphere), 200 words is 200 words.  Happy Sunday, everyone.

 

Choosing a W(h)ine

My dry January continues.  I call it that for lack of a catchier title.  In fact, it is 30 days which began December 27.  That means it’s been 20 days.

I must say I was hoping for a bigger impact on my life.  So far the only effect has been that I would really like a glass of wine, and that was pretty much the case when I started the project.  I’m not sleeping any better, the headaches are about the same, I haven’t lost vast amounts of weight… what else is giving up booze supposed to do for you?

My main concern is when I start thinking, “Oh crap, X more days till I can have a glass of wine!”  Then I think, “Am I obsessing over this?  Maybe I DO have a problem!”  Then I don’t want to write a blog post about it, because I worry  all my friends and family will decide I must be an alcoholic and have one of those interventions.  I wouldn’t care for that.

I confess to feeling a little sad today (Friday) as I drove home from work and realized I would not stop by a liquor store that might be having a wine tasting.  Please note:  I said “wouldn’t” not “couldn’t.”  To not drink wine this month is a choice I make.  And here’s the fun part:  when I remind myself that it is a choice I made and that I choose to continue, suddenly the whole thing becomes not a problem.

It’s kind of like how I feel about running.  When I think, “I SHOULD go running,” I want to whine and cry and NOT run.  However, if I say, “It would be a good idea if I went running,” the next thing I know, I’m lacing up the sneakers and taking off.

Having talked myself right out of my little crisis, I’m going to call this a Lame Friday Post, hit Publish, and go back to sipping my wine glass of seltzer water and lemon.  Happy Friday, everyone.