Thanksgiving

It’s that time of year again. Thanksgiving time - the time where I start talking smack. This year I am going to shoot my own dinner!

Let me give a little background. My house was built before the rest of the neighborhood. This has resulted in a few anomalies. One is that the house number is out of order – we are 205 right next to 238. This is always fun when trying to get packages delivered. Another is that our house is deemed ‘county’ where all our neighbors are ‘city’. This means that we have the express privilege of shooting things on our own property.

Hence the smack talk.

When you add in that we inherited my father-in-law’s sniper rifle, things get fun. I decided last year that I wanted to shoot my own turkey for thanksgiving. I’ve been told that wild turkeys have the best flavor, too. I can’t wait.

Okay, now’s the time for all you Peta/vegetarians to stuff it. I am a firm believer that God gave us those pointy teeth to eat meat. I don’t believe in senseless or inhumane killing, but I did see The Lion King. I do think there’s a circle of life and it ain’t like the guidance circle the schoolkids are having these days. I don’t think the lion and the zebra should sit down together and talk about their differences – unless, of course, the zebra is suicidal.

On the other hand, I am like most people – I have a soft spot for cute fuzzy things. Mammals are harder to kill. (I could never take down Bambi!) And things that are closer to the me-ness that is me get more respect. Sorry, just the way it is. Admit it, you happily poison weeds. I bet you squash bugs, even outside your house. Even the kinds that don’t bite or sting. Some of you will even extend the killing to include snakes . . . They are not like you, and don’t deserve as much respect as, say, the Gray Wolf that we will tirelessly work to save.

My line is at birds. The turkey is – literally – fair game. There are flocks of wild turkeys here in “the bend” where I live. They roam the streets. They are in the neighbors’ yards. But they won’t come into mine.

I lay out in my back yard, rifle poised on its bi-pod, ready to aim. I am a good shot – after all that research for Vengeance, I’m good with a hand gun, too. But there is a real sense of satisfaction in finding a good use for the sniper rifle.

Unfortunately, the turkeys don’t come. I check with the local laws. Apparently it is legal to feed the animals on county properties. It is legal to shoot them, too. It just ain’t legal to bait the turkeys then shoot them. The law isn’t really specific about how long a time lapse I need between the baiting and the shooting . . . . hmmmmm.

Once I found this out, there just wasn’t enough time to feed the birds and establish my yard as a food source. I also can’t stake out in my yard and place a well aimed shot down the street to get a bird off the neighbor’s lawn. (Ultimately, I must agree that this is a good law.) And the turkeys never came closer than three houses away. Apparently, they were smarter than that. In fact the only county lands I have ever seen them on are a few vacant lawns that have big ‘no trespassing’ signs posted. Are they turkey sanctuaries?

In the end, this year I was forced to give some grudging respect to the birds. I mean, they went everywhere in my neighborhood except near my house! I was also forced to buy my Thanksgiving meats at Publix like everyone else.

But next year . . . next year there will be random free corn scattered across my lawn in early November. Next year I will build a real blind to hide in. Next year . . . well, let me just say this:
Game on, turkeys!

BEA or bust - Part 7

BEA or bust -
The trip to Book Expo 2008

Day 6 - the way home - 4pm


Do not attempt to drive in LA between the hours of four and . . . well, ever. We were packed up and back on the road. The bumper to bumper traffic of the millions who had wised up that weekend and were also fleeing LA (or just commuting home?) clogged the road like a stick of butter in an artery. We weren’t going anywhere soon.

Luckily, we only had to get to Phoenix and we each had an Ice Blended in hand. We had made that the number one priority getting out the door. We also had the GPS programmed for the Coffee Bean that was furthest out from LA and had a cooler of ice waiting for the spare each of us would get.

I know you don’t believe me. But I really did this. Just ask Eli. I really like Mocha Ice Blendeds and no one does them like Coffee Bean. I also know that you now realize the cooler signifies that neither of us had yet burned out on the Mochas. This is sad. I failed. I worked really hard toward the goal of getting sick on them. I was up to four a day there at the end. Do you know how many calories are in those things? I didn’t eat much of anything else the last few days. I should have been really sick. What are they putting in them?

After breaking free of the knot of traffic, we accelerated and headed straight for Dallas - ahem, by way of Phoenix again. We got an audiobook - this time we checked to be certain it was on CD before buying - and listened all the way in to Phoenix.

We found a purveyor of crickets before hitting the hotel, where we carried the frogs right through the front lobby. The girls behind the desk squealed and jumped. Not in fear - no, they gushed ‘We heard there were frogs last week!’ and ‘They are so CUTE!’ We smile. Suck up, frogs. Be cute.

For the first time, we really crashed for the night. Even the sound of crickets meeting their end wasn’t enough to keep me up. But somehow I was awake with the dawn. Which was fine, we had a long day ahead of us. Besides, a friend in town had mentioned that Phoenix now had a . . . COFFEE BEAN! Well, you can guess where we headed.

After ransacking yet another Coffee Bean, we pulled out our second audiobook. I usually like the author we had just sacked. But not everything translates well to audio. I was scowling by the fifth time the story explained that the house was run down and the main character didn’t quite have the coin to fix it up. Really? Five explanations? There may have been more, but we wouldn’t know as we popped the CD out and hit the next Barnes & Noble standing monolithic on the side of the freeway. I may be a savant, but I’m smart enough to know when an author is talking down to me. And I’m smart enough to turn it off.

This time the book had merit and we listened avidly. Which was a good thing because this was the longest day of . . . well ever. As slow as the trip had been going out, it was slower traipsing back. We crossed two time zones against us this time - lost hours that felt as though we had stretched time into some endless taffy loop. Then there was the cruel trick played by the Texas Highway System. Remember, I mentioned the 80mph speed limit? Well, it turns out that’s just during daylight hours, and dusk hit just as we crossed the Texas border. The signs taunted us all the way back to Dallas. 80MPH - after dusk 15MPH. Okay, the 15 part is an exaggeration. But just a little. I swear 60 felt like we were in danger of seeing horse-drawn carriages pass us. Or maybe skateboarders.

Oh, do you also remember how I said the Texas landscape was barren and unchanging? Yeah, that’s ten times more so at night. I tried consoling myself by saying that I wouldn’t be any happier if I could see it. But that didn’t help much.

Eli passed out right after the audiobook ended and somehow I am driving in the dark all alone. I sing Metallica songs at full volume, but Eli doesn’t budge. What can I do? This is like so many nights, where everyone else has gone to sleep and I am still awake. But what I normally do is read.

After half an hour of nothing, I get really bored and decide to pick up a book. I got a lot of them at the Expo. I shuffle through the stack, trying to decide what to read. Who cares if I get pulled over? Maybe the flashing blue lights will wake Eli and get it across that it is no longer my turn to drive. Surely the police won’t ticket me - after all, I’m clearly not that bright, I’m just a savant.

BEA or bust - Part 6

BEA or bust -
The trip to Book Expo 2008

Day 5 - the Expo - 5 am


Eli and I have gotten into the swing of things. We are friends with the folks in the neighboring booth. We are talking to everybody - Expo-style. And we have a plan for dinner that does not involve French accents or overpriced peas.

The frogs are living it up, front and center on our table. It appears that they, not I, are they stars of this little dog and pony show. Booth visitors want to know if they can win a frog, touch a frog, or just stay and gaze longingly at them. Occasionally, someone speaks to me or to Eli.

But all this is just fine. It frees me up for a run to the Coffee Bean up the street while the frogs hold court at the booth. I am not yet sick of Mocha Ice Blendeds. I’ll have to start drinking more, even though I am already at two per day.

As far as the booth stuff goes, Eli and I are holding up better today. Maybe we have better shoes or we have acclimated or maybe it’s just time to buck up - but we aren’t quite so whiny today. Or maybe we are just a little afraid of the uber-bright clown down the way or the creepy man that looks like a cross between a body builder and Colonel Sanders.

God! I promise I’ll be good. I’ll even go check out the writer who claims he’s conquered the black, homosexual angel fantasy genre (more power to him, maybe he has!) But please God, keep the clown away.

There are other writers, and other publishers here. For miles and miles. But we are in a booth near the creepy clown and the guys selling multicultural children’s stories (with clowns! Save me!)

There is a man hawking a cook-book for men with food to “make her panties drop”. So the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and so is the way to a woman’s . . .

There is the “Little Jake” or “Little Will” or “Little Somebody” or other series. These books are about a small boy with a big arsenal and he kills lots of wild creatures. With glee. These are books for kids.

I find a book of teenage love poems. I have to say I am sucked in, and even find one entitled “Lorraine V.” - which just happens to be the name and initial of a good friend of mine. I know she will be thrilled to have a poem about her that involves the words “water fountain”.

All of this wildness is tempered with random trips to the nearest Coffee Bean. I have suckered new friends from various other booths to trek to the Bean with me. I have made converts (take that, Starbucks!). However, I am always the one to make the half mile trip on foot. It is actually longer to go by Metro - as is often the case in LA. And half the trip is just what it takes to get out of the Convention Center. Eli doesn’t go, using such excuses as ‘but you already know where it is. I’d hate to get lost.’ ‘No, I don’t need one right now, but if you are going, bring me back a medium.’ Or ‘You and Bruce could talk, what would I say?’ Oh yes, Eli has a bag full of excuses not to walk. But Eli always gets an Ice Blended in the end. Yeah, I was slow on the uptake on that one, too.

Still, the Expo has been fun, if exhausting. We are champs at showing people ‘How to Disarm a Mafia Hitman’ - the sideshow we were running based off research from my book Vengeance. The four frogs of the apocalypse have been rotated until their eyes spin (I didn’t know frogs could do that. Hmm, learn something new everyday.) And it is at last time to take down our banners and abandon our corner of the Expo.

I bleed again for my craft. I bleed from the same shower-hook/banner-holder that I bled from the first time. The only thing new is the band-aid. Yup. I’m definitely a savant.

BEA or bust - Part 5

BEA or bust -
The trip to Book Expo 2008

Day 4 - the Expo - 9 am

We have arrived, and it is HUGE. Our banner is lost, so currently the booth is recognized only by a small sign with the publisher’s logo. At ten minutes until the doors open we are entirely set up - except for the missing banner. The shipping company has us on hold while they try to figure out if they even mailed anything. Apparently, they are confused. And we are concerned.

But just then, a nice person shows up from another booth. The box he is holding has his booth number on it, but it is definitely our banner. Eli tells the woman on the phone, who thanks us and reminds us of the $42 shipping charge that is still owed - as the banner did arrive at the LA Convention Center.

Seriously? The Center covers about four blocks. No where else is it acceptable to get a package within half a mile of the right place and say that it was delivered. On top of this, there are no hooks to hang it. Three minutes until doors open.

While trying to jury rig a system in place I decide to introduce the shipping lady to the airline lady who cancelled my flight with a bright smile. I think they would be fast friends.

In the end, shower rings from a kindly neighbor saved the day. The banner was up by the time the third cluster of people came through and I have now bled for my work. Literally. I wear my band-aid with pride.

9 pm

We have made it through day one. And are aware that day two is supposed to be the big day. We have ordered room service because walking is not an option. Smiling is no longer something I am capable of either, but I don’t think it will be required by the room service personnel.

Besides, the pesto and peas cost $51. We have paid for the food, the service, the overblown French accents, and definitely the right to not smile.

It appears we still owe a tip, though.

BEA or bust - Part 4

BEA or bust -
The trip to Book Expo 2008

Day 3 - Phoenix to LA - 3:56 am

We crawled out of bed less than four hours after we crawled in. We sacrifice four crickets to the gods - frogs - and pack quickly. The sky is a deep shade just shy enough of black to let you know that it’s a dome over you, even though the hotel lights block out any stars. None of this matters. We are wide awake, because we are a mere 349 miles from the nearest Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.

We set the GPS and tell her: Lead on, Maggie!

We ride in relative silence, it has been a year since either of us has had our favorite drink - Ice Blendeds at the Coffee Bean. Maggie (named after her maker: Magellan) took us to the Irvine Center store. Surely we have passed others along the way, but they were not ranked as a GPS “point of interest” so they must not be as good.

The only problem was, this store was in a mall and it was 9:15 am when we arrived. There were tense moments finding the store on the mall map and the deep seated fear that the store would not be open until the mall was: at ten!

We were formulating Plan B when we spotted a man sitting out with his morning brew in front of the store.

“Look! He has coffee!” One of us yelled. The man startled, by the look on his face he seemed afraid we wanted his coffee. And we probably did look a bit like rabid dogs. We had come a long way for this. (and the book expo, but whatever.)

The boy behind the counter thought our glee was a bit odd. But I didn’t care. I had a Mocha Ice Blended in my hand in minutes.

Unfortunately, it was much better than I remembered it being. I was so certain that I had idealized the drink during the time I had been without, but no. And the fact that it was so good saddened me. Like a junkie coming down, it would be just as hard to leave it behind as it had when I moved from LA the first time.

A new plan was hatched: make ourselves so sick on Ice Blendeds that we will willingly give them up at the end of the week. It is a good plan. I went back in and got a second one for the road. I am nothing if not determined.

Coffee Bean in hand, we arrived at the Expo and spent the afternoon setting up our booth. For all this, we will sell no books. The expo is for tradespeople. We are meeting PR people, other authors, artists, and rights agents (Like Hasselhoff, I hope to be loved in Germany!)

The day has left us excited about the show, but both glad we are ex-Angelenos. Of course, here there is a Coffee bean on every corner - three within a stone’s throw of our hotel (this is equivalent to a twenty minute drive.)

We hit my favorite sushi house for dinner. While I learned that LA driving (and the mild muscle cramping that goes with it) is not a skill that is lost, sadly the ability to stuff your face with sushi is quickly gone without practice.
At last we are snug in our hotel in West Hollywood. The frogs and crickets are chirping sweet songs of predator and prey. It may be time for bed . . . at last a real night’s rest. But I swear, through the forest sounds of the animals, I swear I can hear the Coffee Bean calling me.

BEA or bust - Part 3

BEA or bust -
The trip to Book Expo 2008

Day 2 - Dallas to Phoenix - 2:26pm

Yesterday we raided a roadside convenience store. The place had to know it was in the middle of nowhere, because it offered an assortment of audio books. Clearly, no one visiting this store could have anything better to do.

Eli and I were excited. There had been a webinar earlier in the day, but apparently you shouldn’t try to attend webinars while in the car using a cell phone based internet system and passing through the middle of the forsaken land. And there was another eight hours to go.

We greedily picked out a trilogy and hit the road again.

After eating our ice cream sandwiches - or rather attempting to drink them before they vaporized in the west Texas sun - we ripped the cellophane off our audiobook set and popped the case open to reveal a glistening new set of ten . . . cassettes.!?!

There is no cassette player in the car! Eli (a complete technophile) says it would be no less surprising if we had opened the box and discovered the book on LP.

Thinking back, all the audiobooks on the shelf were the same shape, which means the store didn’t offer anything on CD. So we didn’t miss something, there was no choice to be made about format. We took what was there and didn’t think that it might not be right. Part of me wants to balk at the cassettes, but another part of me feels compelled to point out that there is no way a CD would have fit into that box. Boy, were we not paying attention. (Again, I mention that I prefer the term ‘savant’.)

Reduced to listening to staticky radio stations when we could find them, we tried not to complain. The cassette problem was truly our fault. And it was also our fault for not checking things out before we got too deep into the back of beyond. So we faked smiles and lied to each other about how much we loved country music from the fifties and Broadway hits in Spanish.

We hit Phoenix just before midnight. Mind you we only made that goal because the earth was kind enough to have us cross two time zones in our favor. So it was really a little before two a.m. our time.

We checked in and one of us showered - I won’t say which one of us and the four frogs of the apocalypse were cleaned. They creaked incessantly to warn us of the coming changes. We did not care.

The frogs are going with us to show visitors to the booth how they orient - just like in the book. It’s all plausible, the magnetic orientation of the frogs that Becky finds, and a lot of it doesn’t even require a polar reversal, just a frog. So these four (poorly named Jordan, Jillian, Becky and David) are off to show what they can do. We would have gotten frogs in LA rather than dragging them out and back, but we have only a limited set up time. So these guys are getting hauled cross country, along with twelve cricket dinners. I swear the hotel room sounds like I am camping out by the back pond. I dream of the polar reversal and the bees beside the 101 freeway.

Luckily, to me, this is restful.

BEA or bust - Part 2

BEA or bust -
The trip to Book Expo 2008

Day 2 - Dallas to Phoenix - 4:03 am

I started the second day of my trip half an hour late due to a faulty alarm clock. Or perhaps a faulty alarm clock setter? Eli? Really, though, thank you Eli. This gave me four and a half hours of sleep instead of just four. I re-packed my bags (oh joy!) and graciously allowed someone else to load them into the trunk.

Eli and I hit the road, but we didn’t go far. My mother, stepfather and brother live a mile down the street so we had to stop in for me to say ‘hi’. Eli, being their nearby adult child, has a key, and popped open the front door yelling “Pants! Pants!” at full volume.

Apparently, this is the new form of greeting at my mother’s. Apparently, there was a problem with this recently. I didn’t ask for more details.

We give hugs and are told for the umpteenth time to ‘drive safely’ and, at last, we are on the road with 962 miles to go to our hotel in Phoenix. Within half an hour we have already stopped twice - once at Sonic for limeades (a road trip necessity) and once to unpack my luggage to find the antennae to the GPS (which makes it work remarkably better.)

It’s going to be a long day.

The Texas read system has done a brilliant thing and upped their middle-of-nowhere freeway speed to 80. But since Eli has gone to sleep and the landscape is so monotonous, 80 just feels . . . so . . . slow.

And even at 80, you can just drive and drive and never get anywhere. (Don’t zoom out on the GPS on long trips, it’s really depressing to watch your car not move forward on the map.) But I know we haven’t left Texas because a beer billboard has called me treasonous if I drink anything else and there is a general foul smell lingering in the air. I know it’s manure, but I’m not sure what kind it is - prairie dog? Jackalope? What do they have out here that could possibly smell so bad? I try dot to breede for two huddred biles.

On an up note, we have named the kindly GPS ‘Maggie’. Every time we exit, she tells us to please make a legal U-turn. Apparently, Maggie never has to pee.

It turns out that Maggie, like me, is a savant. She’s fantastic with directions, but really slow on the uptake. You would think that after passing four possible U-turn spots at high speed, she’d figure out we don’t want to turn around. But she doesn’t. I don’t get mad, though, I treat her with the pity that savants deserve. I have also learned that if you hit the right buttons you can say, “Maggie, do you think you should shut up now?” and she’ll cheerfully reply, “Yes!”

We turned Maggie off after that pit stop for more limeades. Seriously, you can’t get lost in back-of-nowhere Texas. Just make sure you have a full tank of overpriced gas and follow the smell.

BEA or bust - Part 1

BEA or bust -
The trip to Book Expo 2008

Day -1 - Nashville to Dallas
Brace yourselves frogs, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Though we are just getting into the car, already - for me - the trip is nineteen hours old. After being dropped at the airport two hours early (an absolute UNnecessity in Nashville) my flight was bumped, bumped again, and finally cancelled. All due to weather.

According to the airline, there was a bad storm in Dallas, although all reports from the ground stated “sure, there was a little rain”. To add insult to injury, the next flight to Dallas (two hours later) wasn’t even delayed. And the screen behind the desk at the terminal was posting the Dallas weather as 74o and partly cloudy. This flight was, of course, sold out.

A smiling attendant told me it was a good thing I lived in the area as I “could go home and just come back and try again the next morning.” She recommended hotels for stranded travelers, offered us seats in the airport to sleep on, never apologized and offered no comps. All with a smile that would make the manufacturers of Thorazine quite proud.

I called my travel agent/manager/Eli and was soon booked on a flight on Southwest. I bid my newfound and bitter airport friends goodbye (must be they didn’t have a travel agent/manager/Eli). After re-doing all the check-in and TSA stuff, the kindly folks at Southwest told me the weather in Dallas was sunny that evening.

An hour after I was originally to have landed, I was on board my new flight. After landing . . . somewhere, I immediately popped myself onto the next connection to Dallas. Of course, I realized only as I landed that there was no way on earth that my luggage had also made the flight. Not my brightest move. Eli pointed this out several times over midnight pancakes at IHOP while we waited for my suitcase to land.

At this point I decided the next time someone tells me how smart I am, I will gently but firmly insist that I am a savant. This way, when I do remarkably stupid things (which I am bound to do - probably sooner rather than later) I will not only get acceptance but maybe even sympathy.

I have to say that this label has sat well with me in the weeks since. I was labeled the class brainiac by first grade - don’t get me wrong, I earned it. I was socially awkward and couldn’t keep my mouth shut (situations that still plague me to this day (“grow out of it” my ass!)). But when you get that “brainiac” label, people expect things. Teachers expect you to do well. Other students expect you to do the work. And I think people really enjoy when you do something stupid - which I do all the time.

So being a ‘savant’ is fantastic. If something doesn’t work out, well, it wasn’t the area I’m smart in. If I’m stupid, poor me. If anyone doubts me, all I have to do is throw in a few mumbled phrases about ‘Wapner at three’ or ‘only driving on Mondays’. Most people still get the reference. So here’s to savantism! Join me! Why have expectations and silly talks about your ‘potential’ when you can be celebrated for buttoning your shirt in the morning?

I’m all in, how about you?