Lord, what fools these writers be!

When I was at O’Reilly editing tech books, I remember how exciting it was when a new project landed on my desk. That 500-800 page stack of papers, fastened with rubber bands, made the most satisfying thunk as it hit the Formica. I’d turn away from my computer screen, where I was putting the finishing touches on the previous project that I’d been staring at for weeks, and I’d snap off the elastics and thumb through the new manuscript, still warm from the printer and smelling of fresh ink.

My eyes would feel relief, skimming over the A-heads and sidebars, maybe getting a break from the previous project through the use of a different template or a smaller trim size. The pile of papers were still tidy and solid – not dogeared all over, not yet sullied by red pen marks or the accidental coffee spill. And I couldn’t wait to get started with it.
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Friday five: It’s bad enough I’m allergic to garlic*

You know how sometimes there are things EVERYONE likes so much that you’re almost afraid to admit you can’t stand them? I mean, now that college is in my somewhat distant past (10 years! Egad!) I feel less judged about hating Quentin Tarantino movies, thinking funk music is kinda boring, and finding Jack Kerouac to be the most overrated writer ever. But even as an adult, there are some things I have found that admitting a distaste for can stop a conversation dead in its tracks. Here’s a sampling:

1. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. Tell a person you don’t like this book, and she’ll look at you like you just drowned a puppy. Mostly I think because it is so many people’s FAVORITE book, which leaves me half convinced it’s the only book they’ve ever read.
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Gardenation

I’ve been planting up a storm around here and holy crap is it hard work. Shoveling, wheelbarrowing, lugging buckets of water and containers of soil, ugh. And two weeks until my next chiropractic appointment! There will be much Taking Of The Advil and Moaning.

I’m going for a new theme in the raised bed this year. In the past, I’ve always had one area that does remarkably well and other areas that fail horribly, leaving bald patches in the soil. I’ve given each plant or seed the space begged for on its little stick or packet, and I’ve catered to its needs meticulously.

Yeah, that’s all out the window this year.
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Bits and pieces…bits and pieces…*

Step into rando-blog mode with me. We’ll sit here for a spell and I’ll tell you of things that have been going on in my world.

I think I’m experiencing a bit of a tech hangover. I realized this today when, for about the tenth time this week, I typed something into the text box in Twitter and then promptly deleted it, then navigated to Google Reader and didn’t feel like reading anything.
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HEY! Wait, do I know you…?

I have the world’s worst facial recognition. And car recognition. And name recognition. (I have awesome voice recognition, but it rarely comes in handy, particularly since the advent of caller ID.) Dave finds this hiLARious. Because we live in a small town, and I’m so afraid of not saying Hi to someone I should recognize and being considered snobby that I say Hi to EVERYONE. In a very familiar way.

Such as today in the grocery store. I see a dude. I say, “Hey, how are you doing?” He says, “Hey!” And looks at me a bit oddly. We pass. I say to Dave, “Was that ____’s son from the beach?” “No.” “He kinda looked like him though…?” “No.” “Well, it’s always nice to have someone say Hello to you, right?” Eye roll.
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Move along, there’s nothing to see here

Seriously, there should be big ol’ DETOUR signs spread throughout the Internet so that good, hard working people such as yourselves can avoid the inane BS I’m about to spew. I’m trying to keep the BEDA spirit alive, so here I am blogging even though I have very little to say at the moment. But seeing as I’m already two days into May with scheduled BEDA make-ups, I better come up with something – AND QUICK.

So again, if you don’t want to read a bunch of words strung together for the sake of being strung together, please, go about your business. This is the last time I’ll warn you. Really, turn away.
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Friday five: Worse boyfriends than Edward Cullen

It seems like every day I read another article about how Creepy Eddie is setting a bad example for young girls of what a boyfriend should be. He’s stalker-esque, he’s controlling, he’s SPARKLY. So here it is Friday, and I present you with five idols from my childhood* who would be comparably bad, if not TEN TIMES WORSE as boyfriends than Edward Cullen:

1. J.D. (Heathers). He killed people and tried to blow up his school, and for a while manipulated his girlfriend into helping him. But we all thought he was hot.
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Dear web-savvy friends,

I own linleydolby.com. I would like it if you could go there and see a picture of me and a short bio on the left, then a column on the right with a list of my favorite books and books I am currently reading. I would like it if you could navigate to another page that houses my blog, and a third page where I might put excerpts from works-in-progress, links to magazine articles, and maybe a couple of the short pieces from my blog revised as essays.
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I’m on a soapbox, and you should be too

Yesterday I was busy Being A Capital-A American. I paid my Taxes and I attended Town Meeting and then when that was all over, I patronized my local Pub and drank Beer with My Mom. And I have to say, after all the presidential campaigning I endured on Facebook for the past year, I was very disappointed to see few people within ten years of my age at Town Meeting.

I don’t even see it as an option. I vote. I attend Town Meetings. It’s what I do. And I just find it surprising that, for the number of people around my age who I listen to all the time discuss politics with passion and sometimes pride and often vitriol, there is very little interest on the local level.
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Yep, it’s Monday again

Monday is the day when I blog about pretty much nothing. See what BEDA has done for me? It has given me a ROUTINE! Friday Fives, Mundane Mondays, frightening pictures of Jesus. Thank you, BEDA!

So right now I officially declare Monday the day I’m allowed to blather on about nothing in particular, aimlessly, and without purpose. And I can be redundant too! No editor! There’s too much in the headspace on Monday for anything to make much sense, and luckily I always have the rest of the week to sort it out.
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