It's A Wide Old World of Wildness

I lost four games of poker tonight, and came in second on the last game. Forty bucks down the drain.

I drank most of a fifth of tequila over eight hours of poker and drove home.

I think I wanted to write something about true love, but I think the smarter part of me is telling me to go find a hole and a hacksaw and get to work about shtuff like that. This is a clean Web site, or something, and true love is only slightly below "airport sceening" on the animal waste scale.

I'm posted. You've got to be thrilled. I know, I am.

He Said, Last One

Well, that was short-lived and wasteful. Cheers to resiliency. Whatever knocked me down had the decency to wander off, and take its stinky cart-puller with it.

The Edmonton Oilers beat the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim today, pushing themselves to a 2-0 series lead, both of which were road wins. When the teams play again Tuesday, it'll be in Edmonton. Home rink advantage is just about non-existent in the NHL, but the numbers are very consistent for what a team does when it's in the position the Ducks are in, and more specifically, what a team does when it's in the position the Ducks will be in if they lose Tuesday. They must win Tuesday.

Down 3-0, it's do or die. In the NHL, down 2-0 is an even stronger do or die. If you're down 3-0, may as well wander on home. Is this an argument for a best-of-five instead of best-of-seven? Naw, and the bets are on the Carolina Hurricanes and Buffalo Sabres series to seesaw for seven straight games (OK, possibly no one's bets but mine).

What, Me? Analyze?

A friend of mine who blogs suggests she blogs more often when she's depressed than when she's happy, and that's why if you read her blogs, she seems to be down and out all the time.

*SARCASM* Amazingly, I'm depressed, and blogging. */SARCASM*

Why I hate the Internet, redux: Because anyone can read my passive-aggressive attempts to get laid. Luckily, very, very few people do. And luckily, or not, I'm paranoid enough to NOT name names, suggest realities, or *bleep* around with things that I would regret. I did all that in high school. A diploma and a few years of professional work have cured me of such bee-ess. Therefore, I can't confront anyone.

Monkey. Piffle. Wanker. Web site updated!

Us pronoun, untie

I'm back. I hate to say it. I'm back. I'm surprised this hasn't been deleted. I'm not surprised that out of five sentences, all of them begin with "I."

David Zindell wrote a book that hasn't been published (in the U.S.) yet that I had the opportunity to review where he created a character whose culture didn't use the pronoun "I". He tells the reader this partway through the book, and as a reviewer, I went back to the beginning and skimmed to see if such is the case. It seemed to be.

The one time an agent called me about a query I had sent, he suggested I remove "that" and "this" from the book as much as possible, and "it" and "there" as well. This is a difficult thing, until you realize, for instance, that statements that start with "There is" can easily be rewritten, and "It was" is often better written, and "this" and "that" are hardly as descriptive as "the homicidal monkey".

The interesting exercise is avoiding the use of such phrases. Of not writing about oneself (even in a first person story, is it better when "I" is rarely used?). And in conversation, if you're talking about yourself, aren't you boring other people? And so on.

Thus, in my opinion, blogging is a complete waste of time. This may be the last one. Yay!