Sunday, April 01, 2007

Breakfast with Steve-o: the sequel

FWG: ‘Morning.

Steve-o: Sure is. Coffee ‘ll be ready in a minute.

FWG: So – uh – you got a sleeping beauty in your room right now?

Steve-o: No. Why? ‘Cause my door’s closed?

FWG: Hmm. We must have had an overnight intruder then.

Steve-o: Why?

FWG: There’s a hair in the bathroom sink and it’s too long to be Baby Bear’s or Papa Bear’s. Know what I mean?

Steve-o: That’s freaky. But I don’t know who’s it is.

FWG: You sure? No one’s been eating your porridge – so to speak?

Steve-o: Nope. No Goldilocks in my bed. I swear.

FWG: Alright.

Steve-o: I’m making crescent rolls.

FWG: I see that.

Steve-o: Crescent rolls! Crescent rolls! Sie auf meinem brot nicht scheizen!

FWG: What the hell does that mean?

Steve-o: I think it’s German for ‘Don’t poop on my crescent rolls.’ Or else, ‘My crescent rolls are made of poop.’ One or the other.

FWG: Part of the Hitler musical, obviously.

Steve-o: Obviously. Hmm. Should I make pancakes too?

FWG: Don’t even talk about pancakes. Christ. I’m having bacon and eggs and that’s it...

Which reminds me - I’m way overdue for a much-dreaded…

Detubberization Update

God – how I frigging hate this. I’m bound to doing it but please – don’t read it! Just skip to the next segment if there is one.


Food & drink cheats: 65 (2.3 per day)
Mild exercise: 90 minutes walking (3.2 minutes per day)
Serious exercise: Null (0.0 minutes per day)
Mental exercise (writing): 13800 words (493 per day)
Weight: unknown. never weighed-in all of February!


Food and drink cheats: 49 (1.6 per day)
Mild exercise: 255 minutes (8.2 minutes per day)
Serious exercise: Null (0.0 minutes per day)
Writing: 14980 words (483 per day)
Weight: 314 lbs (down 4 lbs in 2 months. Whoop-de-farking-doo)

Conclusion: I’m inclined to confess to being a total loser and beg to be shot please. In the head. Make it clean and quick – please. But I’m gonna go this route – the positive route – instead.

While all the numbers are strictly pathetic – at least they’re improving. A morbidly slow rate of improvement, granted, but I shall save the giving-up-on-life scenario until progress actually stagnates. A word on the writing stats: While the numbers are painfully low – I’ve been doing a ton of research, note-taking, contemplating, etc. I’ve got a major project in the planning stages that I’m wildly excited about. Unfortunately I’ve also got two major projects half-finished that I’m no longer excited about but that I feel I absolutely must finish. If for no other reason then just to know that I can.

You know – when I started writing I actually worried that upon finishing I might never get another good idea again! What an idiot I was. Now I get ideas constantly. Way faster than I could ever keep up with on the page. I need a clone. Or five.

Clones, people! Where are the damn clones!

Send in… the clones…

Oh – speaking of what a great writer I’m not – here’s a little poem I wrote the other day. I’d never submit it anywhere seriously because it’s structurally lame (though, for a reason). But it contains some messages that I believe are very useful – so I’m letting it see the light of day. I haven’t bothered with a title. Hey – if you have a suggestion for a title – by all means! Don’t be shy. There are no bad suggestions! Even ‘Twenty Lines of Juvenile Rhyming Couplet Shit-crap’ would garner serious consideration! In fact – we’ll make that the working title for now. I give you:

Twenty Lines of Juvenile Rhyming Couplet Shit-Crap

There’s so much to learn ‘bout the universe, Dad! That’s why I like to read!
You got too many books, Son. That’s not the kind of learning you need.

Did you know we can’t live on the moon, Dad! It’s got no atmosphere!
We can’t live in foreign countries either, Son. They’re not like folks around here.

We can’t live on Venus either, Dad. There’s always a terrible storm!
There’s lots of folk to steer clear of, Son, who fall outside the norm.

We can’t live on Mercury either, Dad. The temperatures are too extreme!
And watch out for the Jews, Son. They’re up to some kind of scheme.

And we couldn’t survive on mars, Dad. It doesn’t have good enough air!
And stay out of that big city, there Son. Folks can’t be trusted there.

There’s moons of the outer planets, Dad, might be made the way Earth’s made!
And stay away from San Francisco, too. They got perverts on parade.

But it’s much too cold out there right now, Dad. They’re covered all in ice!
And don’t lend no ear to no stranger, Son. Even if they seem to be nice.

There has to be other friendly worlds, Dad! Somewhere out there in space!
And stay away from the North, Son. They’re coloreds don’t know their place.

But we can’t leave the solar system, Dad. The next one’s too far away!
Oh and stay away from the neighbors, Son. They go to the wrong church to pray.

We’re sure lucky livin’ on Earth, Dad! It’s a paradise of water and air!
We’re best to keep here in Hometown, Son. It’s an ugly world out there.


Kathleen said...

If it makes you feel better, I've spent the past three years exercising more often than not - an hour a day on the elliptical and have lost NOTHING...

Anonymous said...

Your poetry is better than anything I could even spend a year producing...and after having my four kids, I am thinking of all the activities I do and I lose not one pound. Running here there and everywhere(we have no vehicle) hauling stuff, working, being a superhero...still 210. I dunno...Oh well.

Dr. Brainiac said...

Sounds like Dad's embroiled in Paranoiaganda - but what could I possibly know?

A Porsche gozegaxn real fast...

Fantasy Writer Guy said...

Kats - If your avatar is a fair impersonation you've got nothing to lose to start with!

Supermom - you have more capacity for poetry than you realize. The trick is writing what you're passionate about - sorry - the trick is coming to understand what you're passionate about...

Doc - I hear ya. Damn gaxn-goin porsches.

MoviesInMyMind said...

Breath taking. I'm



Well, out of anything witty or intelligent to say.


It would be nice to have proper words with which to honor yours by.

Babs Gladhand said...

Fwig dear, do you realize that you've increased your mild exercise by 256% between February and March? See? That's not morbidly slow. Maybe the results aren't happening as fast as you'd like but you walked 256% MORE.

I love the poem - love the message. And it's not anywhere close to being juvenile rhyming shit-crap.

But I have to say I love the phrase "juvenile shit-crap".

Fantasy Writer Guy said...

little-more-than-zero times 256% is still little more than zero. You're too kind and generous but thank you.