SPOON!

To start the year off right, I procrastinated for over two months before writing my first blog post. (Yes, I consider this to be a good thing. After all, I have a black belt in procrastination.)¹

In the interim, however, I did write a 100-word story containing the words

pry - jet - blue - desert - gnaw

"He sprayed you?"

"With one of those new Jango Fett--sorry, new-fangled jet power washers. Called me impure."

"You should've reported him."

"I did. That's why he chopped down spry moose. My spruce. From my daughter's memorial garden. He said it defiled his yard."

"Wow."

"Prejudice brings out people's shoe trades. Er, true shades."

"Yet, if it's his house..."

"I know. And he had me wino saver. Sign a waiver. When I rented the place from the affluent buck. Dammit. Abluent f--"

"I get it. So, you're here to lodge another complaint?"

"What? No. Biz hottie's in try monk."

This brings my total wins on literary agent Janet Reid's blog to five. I do have an advantage, though: She happens to enjoy clever wordplay, which I've employed in four of my five victories.²

But enough about me. Go check out the other winning entry and all the other finalists, all of which are bucking frilliant.


¹ It's not an actual level you can attain, like in martial arts. All it means is sometimes I wear a black belt while procrastinating. Usually because I've chosen to wear black shoes that day. I may rock the socks-and-sandals look, but I'm not entirely devoid of fashion sense.
² Or three of them, if you don't consider the puns in my first win clever.

Writing Advice for the Easily Distracted

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but some poor, misguided spambot (Updated, 1/25: turns out it wasn't a bot at all; my apologies, Brittany) has nominated me for a Top Writing Blog Award at eCollegeFinder. I don't have all the details yet, but I thought I'd serve up some actual writing advice before they start the selection process. You know, so it looks like I know what I'm doing.

We live in a short-attention span society, so I won't bore you by droning on and on about my tips and techniques and proper grammar. I can bore you just as easily by condensing my advice into bite-sized nuggets:

1. I can tell you how to finish your book in one word: time management.¹
    
2. Don't use amateurnouns. Your readers will notice.
    
3. After spicing up your novel a bit by mixing in metaphors, set it aside for a while so the plot may thicken.
    
4. Omit words.²
    
5. When writing non-fiction, be vicious with your punctuation:
   
   • Cut long passages down to size by using bullets.
   • To get rid of extraneous content, drop it with a dagger.†
   • In order to fit a bunch of people into a smaller space, slash them repeatedly.
     (e.g. Axl/Izzy/Duff/Steven)
    
6. To ensure your prose is flawless, always use the perfect tense.
    
7. No matter how wonderful a passage or phrase sounds, it's worthless if it doesn't advance the story. As Sir Arthur Quiller-Coach said, "Murder your Darlings. Especially if you're J.M. Barrie, because then you have a Peter Pan Murder Mystery on your hands."
    
8. Writers, take proper care of your colons: Otherwise, all that follows will be a painful mess.
    
9. Even if you do your writing on a computer, you need your BIC PEN. (Butt In Chair, Persistently Evading the 'Net)
    
10. Use short sentences for action scenes. It moves the narrative along.
    Use long sentences for flowery prose, 20-page research papers, lists of moderate to great length, and convicted murderers.
     
11. Sentence fragments. Useful in moderation. Really.
     
12. And I'll end with a few examples of properly used punctuation:
    
    • Why would you ask me? (Question Mark)
    • She won't say why she's so moody. (Period)
    • Don't interrupt me. Anyway, I've got to— (Dash)

That'll do it for now. And remember: Writing is a journey. Don't stop believing.


¹ And as that statement proves, reading and writing are essential to your success, but arithmetic is not.
² The original advice from Strunk and White's Elements of Style was "Omit needless words." I thought needless unnecessary.
† What did I tell you? This content isn't useful at all.

Ramble in the Bronx

For every blog post prior to this one, I sat down at the keyboard already knowing what I would write about. But this time I have nothing. Not even an inkling. Therefore, I'll do what I did in practically every email I sent home during my four years of college. Ladies and gentlemen, let's get ready to ramble.

Once I get going, I shouldn't lose my train of thought, though I may shift tracks so quickly others will say I've lost it. So let's leave this topic behind and shift to the topic of behinds. Brits call ours an arse, with that R thrust up in there, butt we Yanks are more apt to make a crack about having junk in the trunk, further yanking Brits' chains since they call their trunk a boot. And not a boot like Italy, which has always looked to me like it's tripping on Sicily and falling hip-first into southeast France, which is Nice. And not nice as in "oh, that's nice," but pronounced "niece," which by the way can also be a nickname for Denise, though I don't call Denise that because it's not nice. Instead I call her Denise, or Beautiful, or Mommy (if The Professor's nearby), but never Honey, since she may be sweet but she didn't get that way by being regurgitated by bees.

By the by, bees are stingy. And that's stingy, not sting-y, though of course they're sting-y, too. I mean, whenever I try to keep tidbits of pollen away from them, bees seize dese with ease, despite the fees. (Jeez, that was a bad bit, but bite me. I don't backtrack mid-ramble. That's a recipe for disaster, like if you completely leave the rum out of a Hurricane. Or if you leave the rum out in a hurricane, which isn't wise; the rum's gone and an angry Sparrow will chew your ears off.) Speaking of chewing ears, I'd rather speak of Ewing cheers, which aren't quite Bronx cheers since the Knickerbockers play their home games in Manhattan.¹

Well, that'll do it. I do hope my muse has amused. Or bemused. Honestly, I'm equally happy with either outcome.<sup>2


1</sup> Leave the rum out of a Manhattan, or it'll be too rummy when gin's supposed to be in the cards. And never leave the rum out in Manhattan, or an artful Dodger may steal it away to L.A.... and then you're back to the earlier ear-chewing scenario.
² Oh, and the first person to make a crack about me being a ramblin' man will end up at the wrong end of a gun. After all, I'm just trying to make a living and doing the best I can.

More Fun With Homos (and a Baby!)

When I messed with homophones a few weeks ago, people loved it. Or perhaps they just loved the photos of my newborn son. Either way, I have more of the same for you today.

Behold: 24 new pictures of The Professor! Also, 12 new snippets in my latest assault on the English language:

1. If you can tame her, the kingdom is yours. Whoever holds Rain's reins reigns.
    
2. "These aren't the cookies you said you were making. This looks more like a fawn than a dodo." "It's a deer, dear. A dough doe." "D'oh!"
    
3. The ad for "Do the Dew" (part deux) was due, causing much ado and meaning I could bid this job adieu.¹
    
4. Does a cuckoo coo, or a nene neigh? Nay. But that's coo'.
    
5. That Boer named Bohr is a boor; he bore into a Bora Bora boar.
    
6. Hey, when you're in this strait, man, don't purchase a Straight Man or Gay Man from Gaiman. When he comes by, buy Bi. Bye bye!
    
7. He lays leis on ladies as they laze on the leas.
    
8. Oh, Kay, it's okay if you choose Oak A. But I would not get a wood knot.
    
9. "Are we ready to cast the James Bond side characters?"
   "Yes, cue the Q queue."
    
10. What got the thin king thinking was when the prince's prints implied the imp lied about a bout between the banned band and the barred bard.
     
11. Ignoring his praise, she prays that when he preys on her, no matter how hard he pries, he'll never prise away her prize.
     
12. Sorry, I realize (with real eyes) none of these quite match a pro's prose. I know I'm no pro, but I like to think I'm at least a mature amateur.

And there's five minutes of your life wasted.


¹ Yeah, that was a bunch of doodoo.

Fun With Homos

I like messing around with homophones, homonyms, homonids, and the like. A few of you may remember my discussion of we wee Wii weevils from a while back. Well, now that I'm a new father and spend more time awake thinking about inane things, congratulations! You get more of the same!¹

And lest you get mad about me putting together a blog post with nothing but a list of horrendous homophones, you can also peruse 15 new photos of my week-old son (a.k.a. The Professor).

• "You still need to repay me for that essence of sheep's eye you borrowed."
  "Oh aye, I owe you ewe eye eau."
   
• When I competed in that International Pie-Eating Contest against King Juan Carlos of Spain and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, I'd have been victorious if not for four forefathers conspiring against me. Though I ate eight more than my competitors, I received no prizes; Juan won one, and they gave two to Tutu, too.
   
• I sure hope the TV gods see fit to air Eyre Heir ere the end of the year. They'd better not fill that one empty timeslot with anything else. If they put a favorite of theirs there, they're going to be hearing from me.
   
• Even if Orville and Wilbur had a strange coming-of-age tradition, don't just write "Wright Rite" right away. You need time to come up with a proper title.
   
• Koreans believe fish have sun spirits, so don't scoff at Seoul sole sol soul.
   
• "This may sound corny, but when I go through Mr. May's maize maze, rather than follow the rose roe's rows or the weighed whey way or the isle aisle, I'll compose an idle idol idyll and simply sing to myself until I'm out the other side," sighed Cy.

See? I told you they were horrendous.


¹ The sleep deprivation isn't nearly as bad as everyone made it out to be. It may be because I've always lacked for sleep, or because I'm not working for the time being, or because I already once suffered through two weeks of the devastating combo of mono and insomnia (a.k.a. insomnimono). But no matter the reason, this minor sleep loss is child's play. Speaking of which, I can't wait to play with my child. (So far, his vision is blurry and he has no coordination, so the baseball just tends to hit him in the face.)

The Sometimes Y

Y isn't like the rest of the letters. They all know their purpose, but not Y. Y is in a category all of its own, an outcast. But why?

Because Y swings both ways.

Yes, C may have identity issues, unsure if it wants to be a nice soft S or a cold hard K, but Y is the only letter that can switch teams completely. It'll be a vowel one moment, a consonant the next; it all depends on context. Y is the alphabetic equivalent of baseball's utility man, working hard to fill whatever need arises, and never getting full credit. It's the underpaid character surviving by working both a consonant full-time job and a temporary one. It's the bit player there in support of the main cast, able to go from young man to small boy with one quick change.

You might think the vowel form of Y could easily be replaced with I, but that's a naïve assumption: Change by to bi (or Candy to Candi) and suddenly it seems more promiscuous.¹ Besides, would you really want to fly through the ski, or have some small bites of data? Probably not, unless you're a masochistic robot. Not to mention, the list of most popular baby names is proof that many people prefer Y to I.² The names with two Y's may not be too wise, but who am I to judge?³

There's nothing wrong with Y. It may be a little different, but it deserves to stay. After all, it's got rhythm. Who could ask for anything more?


¹ Even though Y's the one that gets around.
² As do I, in most instances. For instance, I still remember the solution to a puzzle from the 1990s computer game The 7th Guest. The trick was to rearrange the letters BCGHLLLMPPPRRRSSSSSTTTYYYYYYYYYYY into a sentence. The (peculiar, yet somewhat elegant) answer? Shy gypsy, slyly, spryly, tryst by my crypt.
³ I'm Nate, and I would be a brutal but fair judge. For instance, I would make sure that anyone who tried to name their kid something like Caytlyn or Dylyn or Evylyn would be exycutyd.

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Alex J. Cavanaugh and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Wow, What Wonderfully Wacky Winners!

As I began combing deftly through your entries, it just killed me that none piqued my interest. But, in my view, that's one sexy zither.

As you can see from that example, certain letters can sure throw off the mood of a piece. There were 16 excellent entries in my From A to Z Contest, and 9 people who said they'd come back but never did (just like in a horror film! I hope they're okay...).

For those of you who missed your chance — or have a long-standing feud with the alphabet — fret not. My 2nd Annual Haiku Contest begins this Sunday. So come on back.

Anyway, before I get to the prizes, let me share some of the brilliant writing from this alphabetic contest:

"Anteaters bounced candidly down the elephant's fabled garage..." (Holly Ruggiero)
"Everything fresh and good was hateful." (Marian Allen)
"...ghosts in jackets that liked mango puddings..." (Cheree)
"...save the ukulele vandalizing..." (Liz P)
"...shivering with antici-(say it!)-pation..." (The Writing Goddess)

First I shall divulge the lesser prizes, the $10 giveaways. I never said what these would entail, so sadly, only a few of the criteria were met. On the one hand I'm disappointed, but on the other, I'm actually quite relieved. After all, it's probably in the world's best interest that no one else's brain works quite like mine.

First Uvula Award -- unclaimed
Most consecutive letters in a row, minimum of 4.
(e.g. Did the king of rap music, Def G, hijack an elm? Nope.)

Kilimanjaro Prize -- Naomi (for abracadabra and menopause)
Most letters in one word, minimum of 4.
(e.g. abdicated, backdated, defrag, fighting Afghani, hijinks, luminous lamination, gymnophobia, squarest, Rustoleum, Stuyvesant)

Codefighting Jackalominions Cup -- unclaimed
Most creative made-up words.

Abacusz Prize -- Cheree (157 characters, including spaces)
Fastest to Z, but without using made-up words or rare names. (I'm talking to you, Gahoolie.) And yes, considering the prize's name, I understand the irony of this restriction.

Mighty Zota Award -- RS Robertson
Doing A to Z backwards. (I said you had to use the alphabet in order, but never said which order.)

Razmatazz Trophy -- unclaimed
Going through A to Z twice in one go (or from A to Z and back to A).

Man From Nantucket Prize -- unclaimed
Best poem, limerick, or haiku. For instance, you could have done something like...

Abe codes fighting jokes.
Lymph nodes piqued, thirst unveils
A waxy zebra.

...and even though it makes practically no sense, you would have taken home four of the lesser prizes, including the coveted...

Waxy Zebra Award -- unclaimed
A completely random prize for entries that end with the phrase "waxy zebra."


Honorable Mentions:
The following people came oh so close, but in the end my utterly biased and fantastically unpredictable brain went a different direction, possibly because I had been playing hide-and-seek in the reactor core again. Nevertheless, I thought the entries by these three deserved both mention and honor (but unfortunately for them, not cash): Cheree, Marian Allen, and Sumira Khan

Grand Prize Winners:
And now I shall unveil the three winners of the $26 gift cards. They were selected using my fool-proof method of reading each entry out loud to my cats, and seeing which ones caused them to bat at me in the most playful manner. That, or I left it up to my brain. Both ways are equally as random. Thus, I present to you the winners, in no particular order...

As Beverly chased delicious dreams of great pleasure, her idea generated jokes and laughter. Mere nonsense, they said. Perhaps, but quit? She refused to abandon her ultimate goal, shivering with antici-(say it!)-pation, wetting her lips as she dialed. “XYZ Pizza? I’d like a medium cheese with double broccoli, please.” (The Writing Goddess)

A bad cat drank everything from grease, human intestinal juice, ketchup, lemonade, mint, nutmeg. Occasionally puked. Queasy, really silly tomcat. Usually very wild. X-rays yearly. Zikes. (baygirl32)

Although blatant canonical deficits exist, figurative genetic hierarchy is instrumental in justifying knee-jerk legitimization by many neo-oppressionistic populists (who will) quite readily spout their unpopular views with xenophobic yammering and outright zealousness. (RS Robertson)

(You can view all the entries here)

Congratulations again to all the winners, and thanks to everyone who entered! I hope to see you all again next week for my 2nd Annual Haiku Contest!


Winners: If you haven't gotten an email from me, and you aren't my sister, send me an email at theothernate@yahoo.com. If you are my sister, you can't claim this prize until after you first claim your Japanese dinner.

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Arlee Bird and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Unappreciated, Unadulterated, Unnecessary, Um...

Undulating undies! My From A to Z Contest closes at 11:59 pm tonight, ending your chance at over $100 in prizes. What are you waiting for?

Um, so I was thinking, well, you know, that I might try to, uuuh, write a post the way you—that is, the way we, as a people, y'know, talk.

Every writer has probably considered this at some point. For realistic-sounding dialogue, why not use dialogue taken directly from real life? And then they listen to how real people talk.

Our conversations are full of crutch words and verbal tics, those uhs and ums and y'knows we say without realizing it.¹ We stutter, we stop, we interrupt each other. We change what we're saying multiple times before completing a thought. We complete each others' thoughts, or move on without completing them. Basically, it's like we're all talking in Mamet speak.

This works in real life because we learn to subconsciously ignore all these little tics, and read into what people are saying. When reading, however, our brains don't work the same way. We see every word. And if we actually have to, um, read, like, every word, it, well, it gets tougher to—it gets a bit stilted.

Dialogue and narrative should flow, not feel like a case of literary hiccups. It's fine to use a touch here and there, perhaps an um of consideration or an occasional y'know from one character. But a little can go a long way, so don't overdo it.²

Realism is good. But for good realistic dialogue, fake it.


¹ Once, while listening to a vendor give a presentation, I noticed his inadvertent overuse of "y'know," so I started counting. Before a minute had passed, he'd hit 20. No one else in the room noticed this tic at all.
² This goes for regional dialects and accents, too. And adverbs. And exposition. And sentences that begin with conjunctions.

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Jen Daiker and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Past Perfect Present Participle, Please

Pilfering pirates! There's a treasure trove of over $100 in prizes up for grabs in my From A to Z Contest. Enter today!

Okay, I admit it: When I try to think about participles, my brain leaves me dangling. Attempting to identify past perfect or present progressive leaves me tense. I knew all this stuff back when I needed to — in high school English — but it has no real world application.¹

In a way, my knowledge of English grammar is very similar to my grasp of music theory. When I create music, I have no idea what key I'm in or that I'm employing a tertian harmonic system; I just know what sounds good. Likewise, I couldn't tell you if my writing uses primordial pluperfect prepositions or future conditional subjunctive. I just know what sounds good.

I agree with most grammar rules,² but to keep your writing feeling natural, you'll need to break a few of them now and then. End a sentence with a preposition if you want to. I give you permission to recklessly (and needlessly) split infinitives. And sentence fragments? Powerful stuff. If used in moderation.

We have the rules for a reason. But you can ignore them, within reason. Give it a try; you (and your readers) will be glad you did.

Which grammar rules do you break, bend, or shatter?


¹ Whereas Apple and Android devices come with a real world application already installed. It's called the power button.
² Such as the one about minding your P's and Q's. They're like rabbits, I tell you. Best to keep an eye on them (or an I between 'em).

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Talli Roland and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Oh. Em. Gee.

Onerous ocelots! Only one more week to enter my From A to Z Contest for your chance at over $100 in prizes!

Throughout history, teenagers have always seemed to speak a different language than everyone else. A young Julius Caesar uttered upon witnessing his first political debate, "Veni, vidi, stoliiiiidus est."¹ Mozart called one of his early symphonies "Shiznit No. 19 in Da Bomb Major." But only recently have they developed their own written language: texting.

Some of the lingo has been around a while, so even some of us older folk may be able to decipher this jumble of letters: omg! roflmao! ftw imho (lol).²

But as the texting language continues to evolve, we're bound to be left behind. To help you out, here are some of the newer phrases, so you'll be able to spy on your children understand a text from one of your younger relatives:

yklw	you know, like, whatever
tgiso	that guy is so old
homdyamatadta	hold on, my dad's yelling at me about texting at the dinner table again
dbahb	don't be a hater, bitch
rofbabz	rolling on the floor, being attacked by zombies
icftwaap	I completely forgot this was also a phone
nnjsio	not now, Jersey Shore is on
pitjtocuhfmctafep	personally, I think Jung's theory of collective unconsciousness has far more credence than anything Freud ever postulated
jaborl	just a bunch of random letters

I hope these r useful 4 u. I'd h8 it if u found them 2 b a waste of ur time.

Crap! I think I've become infected. FML!<sup>3


1</sup> "I came, I saw, it was sooo boooooring."
² Orange marmalade, grandma! Royal orderlies found lemons, mangos, and oranges! Forget the watermelon; I must have oranges (luscious oranges, luscious).
³ Find me leeches!

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Karen Gowen and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Love Letters, Literally

Leaping Lazarus! I'm itching to give away over $100 in my From A to Z Contest. I might give it to you. Show me what you've got.

Dearest Alphabet,
Oh my love, I have been under your spell ever since the first moment I saw you. I was drawn in by your magnetism, but even at that early age I could see you were more attached to the refrigerator than you were to me. But I didn't give up: I found you in the library, and then at school, and it wasn't long before we were going everywhere together. Of course, we didn't always get along—sometimes you were too bold, or a bit loopy, or leaned too far to the right for my taste—but I never stopped loving you. You're always kind to widows and orphans, and oh those fantastic curves!

When I'm with you, I feel like anything's possible. You transport me to faraway lands for grand adventures. When we're alone I can have my way with you, yet you don't mind when I put you on display for the whole world to see. Yes, I did have that short fling with a couple of hot numbers in college, but you were my first real love, and I don't know what I'd do without you. I love you I love you I love you, and I always will. (Don't tell my wife.)

XOXO

Nate

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear A,
B mine. You touch B, I kill you.

- C

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear M,
I love U. M sorry we no work out.

- I

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear U,
Not to be querulous, but why won't you come away with me? Do my inquiries not pique your interest? It's quaint that you wish to remain amongst these unsophisticated troglodytes, but none of the other letters is your equal. They possess neither your quiet, gentle nature nor your eloquence. They are overly quirky and quick to quibble; neither are endearing qualities. And since A was nearly drawn and quartered, it seems C has started using I as an enforcer. Frankly, it's disquieting, and you deserve better.

There is no question we belong together, my darling. With you as my queen, we could conquer the English-speaking world. Perhaps you find my forwardness quite quixotic, but thy shalt not quit. Let us escape this quintessential quagmire.

Unequivocally yours,
Q

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Q,
I with U now. I no understand message. Neither do U.

- U

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear A,
Hope you are recovering quickly after what I did to you. Question: Would you ever consider leaving this dreadful language and starting anew in Qatar?

Eagerly awaiting your answer,
Q


This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Alex J. Cavanaugh and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Kurious Khemical Kompounds (wherein K = Potassium)

No, I'm not saying you should translate this post's title as "Potassiumurious Potassiumhemical Potassiumompounds." I've already covered gobbledygook.

I'll fess up: I was planning to use this topic for C, but then I hit upon my From A to Z Contest (with over $100 in prizes—enter today!). I needed a new spot for this, and K seemed like the logical choice.¹

Anyway, I suspect that like me, some of you got bored in chemistry class and started making words with the symbols on the Periodic Table of Elements. It's harder than you'd think, since 10 letters only come as part of a pair (ADEGLMRTXZ) and two don't appear at all (JQ). And it's even more difficult if you don't allow symbols to repeat within the same word (which I don't).²

Of the eight co-hosts for this A to Z Challenge, only one can spell any part of his name with elements: STePHeN (Sulfur-Tellurium-Phosphorus-Helium-Nitrogen), which is rather fitting, considering his love for science. The other 15 first and last names? Can't be done.

In Period Table English, you can't spell PErIOdiC, TaBle, or eNglISH. CHemIStrY doesn't exist, and neither does ScIeNCe. You're out of luck with OUt and lUCK.

You can have an AmBiTiOUS RhInOCErOs, but not an eAgEr BeaVEr. InTeRnAtIONAl SPIEs, but no FOReIgN AgeNtS. Plenty of FLaSH FICTiON, but not one NOVel or SHort StOrY. Yet, surprisingly, you can have both SYNeCdOCHe and ScHeNeCTaDy, NY.

SO I WAs ThInKINg I WOUld AtTemPt StrIVe trY
IF I CaN FInISH ONe SeNTenCe
ThAt'S WHAt I WaNt HOPe
'TiS SO VErY HArd tOUgH dIFfiCult dArN ImPOsSiBle
FUCK ThIS. No MoRe, GdAmMt!
I'MdONe.³

SiNCeRelY,
Sodium Tellurium (NaTe)

¹ If you consider pulling letters randomly out of a hat logical. Luckily, I do.
² By the way, this type of wordplay is the only (arguably) legitimate reason to ever capitalize every other letter when you type.
³ P.S. ScReW YOU, HErSHeY! I TaSTe ArSeNiC. ThAr Be PoISON In ThIs HeRe CHoCoLaTe! NOW I PErISH. (SCeNe.)

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Stephen Tremp and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Insanely Irascible Insurance Industry Initialisms

Inconceivable! I'm giving away over $100 in prizes in my From A to Z Contest! (Okay, I concede it's kind of conceivable.)

As a web designer for an insurance and investment company, I'm constantly surrounded by initialisms. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it's what most people mistakenly call acronyms.¹

Initialisms are everywhere, but insurance and investment companies are rife with them. You can apply for STD coverage because of an STD (short-term disability / sexually transmitted disease). People in RPG can play RPGs on their lunch break (retirement plans group / role-playing games). You can buy an IRA for a member of the IRA (individual retirement account / Irish Republican Army), or get an MF for an MFer (mutual fund, motherfucker).

A CPA in the AARP might get an LTD while under HIPAA, then check an IPO's YTD before discussing ERISA with a TPA and the FDIC. I might be a little off in my usage, but we use all those initialisms, and that's just the tip of the iceberg.²

I have worked in HTSC and on sites for IAS, SRS, SIU, and HPRM (which works off a PPA). I was even briefly part of GSD, which stood for GBD Solutions Design. That's right: an initialism inside another initialism. It's like one of those Russian nesting dolls, only much, much stupider.

And that's the insurance industry for you. TTFN. TTYL.

So, how about you? What insane initialisms do you have to deal with?


¹ An acronym is a series of initials said as a word (e.g. SCUBA, LASER, LARP). An initialism is any series of initials, whether it's an acronym or needs to be spelled out by its individual letters (e.g. ABC, IBM, WWJD). Then again, I normally try to pronounce all initialisms as words. I get stranger looks that way.
² By the way, if you hit the iceberg, you can file a claim with P&C (property &nd casualty).

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Talli Roland and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Go-Go Gadget Gobbledygook!

Great galloping gadflies! I'm giving away over $100 in my From A to Z Contest! What are you waiting for?

While I wholeheartedly (as opposed to partheartedly or halfspleenedly) admit that much of what I write/ramble/rant about here on this here blog is a steaming heap of—no, I refuse to call it refuse, but it is pretty much rubbish, and aye, there's the rub: If most readers can't cross your streams of consciousness, if they can't manage to follow your train of thought, it's clear you've probably gone loco without the motive. Even if you're just a little off track, betting you lose readers would be a profitable endeavor, since we live in a Short Attention Span Society (or SASS, and by the way I'm having SASS sashes made, shiny ones, all the better to distract you with, my dear) and—wait, where was I? Oh right. Sitting in my home office with a cat by my mouse.

Anyway, people sure love themselves some crazy (translation: they're keen on Sheen), but dude, they won't abide being driven batshit crazy themselves by having to decipher the droll, dauntless drivel you dare to deem your writing. So give it to 'em straight — or gay, or bi, or asexual (like this one amoeba I knew in college) — but whatever you do, don't force your readers to slog through the unnavigable landscape of crags and crevasses created by your particular brand of madness in the hopes they'll soldier through and eventually arrive at your point, because before they ever get there their minds will inevitably wander (as minds and tribes are apt to do) onto uncharted paths of their own (and likely lesser) imagination, and there they'll revel forever and ever and when they finally do come stumbling back to your intricately plotted passages and best laid lines that get tangled in each other and cause your hook to get caught in the fleshy part of your thumb, it will be time for dinner.

Reading shouldn't be a struggle.


This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Candace Ganger and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

From A to Z CONTEST!

**The contest has ended** (view the winners)

In honor of Arlee Bird's Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, I thought today would be the perfect time to unveil an idea I've had for a while now: An alphabetic writing contest.

The rules are simple:
Write something using every letter of the alphabet, in order.

It can be prose. It can be poetry. It can be instructions for properly installing a flux capacitor. I don't care. All I care is that it contains all 26 letters, and that they appear in alphabetic order.

So, what do I mean by in order? Let me give you an example.

Amy used the bacon defense.

Take a look at the underlined letters in the above sentence. That's A through F, in order. Six down, twenty to go. Nice and easy.

And no, I won't tell you what the bacon defense is. It wouldn't be nearly as effective against you if I did.

Anyway, here's what you can win:

• I shall bestow three prizes of $26 (as Amazon gift cards or something comparable, winner's choice) upon the authors of my three favorite entries.
• I will also award at least three additional prizes of $10, based on criteria I won't divulge to you at this time. I'll just say this: it's all about the letters.

That's over $100 up for grabs. If you want in on this, leave your entry (or entries—I'll give you up to two) in the comments below. Don't worry about underlining the appropriate letters, just worry about what you're writing. And in which order the letters appear.

The contest will close in three weeks, on Monday, April 25, at 11:59pm (Eastern Time).

Be creative. Be funny. Be eloquent. Be insane.

But most of all: Entertain me.


Contest Rules:

1. Rules will be written in small type and numbered, so they look more official.
2. To enter, write something using every letter of the alphabet in order, and post it in the comments section of this blog. If your letters are out of order, I'll find them in contempt of court and give them a short sentence. Or I'll just hang a sign on the door telling people to use the next stall. Either way, you won't win.
3. Entries must use the English alphabet. If you end up using another one, such as Greek or Russian or Klingon, your entry will be translated into English, and inevitably lose something in the translation. Such as this contest.
4. You may submit a maximum of two entries. If you submit more than two, I will notice, because I can count. Only your final two entries will be eligible to win. I'll claim any earlier attempts as my own.
5. You must provide a name. Anonymous entries will not win. Eponymous and androgynous entries probably won't win, either, but I'll decide that based on merit.
6. There is no rule 6.
7. Prizes will be awarded as follows:
   
   • Three (3) winners will receive $26 each, in the form of an Amazon gift card or comparable online currency (of the winner's choosing).
   • Three (3) or more additional winners will receive $10 (also Amazon, etc.), awarded based on criteria that I make up as I go along.
   • An indeterminate number of people will be dubbed as Honorable Mentions. These people will receive honor. (Also, mention.)
8. I shall act as the contest's sole judge, and if James Brown enters, its soul judge.
9. The contest is open until April 25, 2011 at 11:59pm, Eastern Time. If you post an entry after the deadline, it will be entered in my next contest instead. It won't win that one, either.
10. Good luck. (Not that luck will help you win, but it felt like the right thing to say.)

Blissfully Bare

English is so inconsistent. Where else can you find so many words that are spelled differently but pronounced the same (the towed lode toed the load), and so many words that are spelled the same but pronounced differently (I plough through rough dough. Cough.). And of course, let's not forget the rule everyone knows by heart:

I before E except after C, unless it's for SCIENCE! Or, you know, if it's weird or foreign (or neither).

Which brings me to the Barenaked Ladies, who are both weird and foreign.¹ In 2008, they put out a kids' album titled Snack Time. It's decent, but doesn't quite match the quality of the Ladies' adult entertainment. (Yes, I went there.) Personally, I prefer the four children's albums put out by They Might Be Giants, though that's neither here nor there.² Anyway, the reason I bring all this up is because of the second-to-last track, a song called "Crazy ABCs."

I like the idea of the song, but I don't understand why it's on an album for kids. Most of them won't get it. Hell, without the liner notes, most adults won't get it. Instead of traditional ABCs (i.e. apple, ball, chlamydia), BNL uses words that don't sound the way they're spelled. Words like bdellium, djinn, and mnemonic. The song's full of silent letters and foreign words, not to mention a ZZ Top reference (topical as always).

It's over-the-head of young kids, and too corny for anyone in their teens. Which means it's mostly for 6th graders who dream of one day competing in the National Spelling Bee.

But that's fine. They can get there by flying the czar's gnarly pterodactyl over a tsunami.


¹ Or neither, if you live in Canada. If you do, could you send me some Nanaimo bars?
² If it was here or there, I'd be infringing on Grover's domain, and he wouldn't hesitate to sic his attack Snuffleupagus on me.

This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Jeffrey Beesler and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

A Ram Sang a Ragman's Anagrams

I've always enjoyed messing around with the English language. It began in my toddling days with those colorful fridge magnets, then spread to the Daily Jumble (I blamed July) and games of Scrabble (grab some elf ABCs). Eventually I moved on to things like simile, metaphor, and puns, but anagrams always stuck with me.

A talented anagrammologist can make an anagram actually describe the thing it's an anagram of. Note: I am not a talented anagrammologist. In fact, I made that word up.

Original Phrase	Potential Anagram(s)
Nate Wilson	wanton isle a stolen win 'twas online
Sometimes, the Wheel is on Fire	some element of his wit is here home is where I moisten fleets
April Fool's Day	a play for idols daily roof slap frail lady (oops!)
President Barack Hussein Obama	bare bipeds chosen in Kama Sutra bad-ass Superman broke in the CIA top American business had break
Justin Bieber	inert jubbies

By the way, before I go on I should probably mention that this post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge (OMG a blazing hot frog prince -- all leg!), brought to you by Arlee Bird (die, barrel!) and his charming array of co-hosts: Jeffrey Beesler (refs jeer feebly), Jen Daiker (Jedi, E-Rank), Candace Ganger (GC: Green Canada), Karen Gowen (anger woken), Talli Roland (Iran told all), Stephen Tremp (pens tempt her), and Alex J. Cavanaugh (Jalex C. Avanaugh). Go and check out the other participants!

Anyway, I'll end today's post with an anagrammatic poem (mama ate magic porn). Back in 1936, David Shulman (lush DVD mania!) wrote a rhyming sonnet (tenor hymn sing) in which each of the 14 lines is an anagram of the poem's title (simple tote). Its meter isn't too consistent (cotton is stone), but you have to admit it's pretty impressive (sever empty spirit):

Washington Crossing the Delaware

A hard, howling, tossing water scene.
Strong tide was washing hero clean.
"How cold!" Weather stings as in anger.
O Silent night shows war ace danger!

The cold waters swashing on in rage.
Redcoats warn slow his hint engage.
When star general's action wish'd "Go!"
He saw his ragged continentals row.

Ah, he stands — sailor crew went going.
And so this general watches rowing.
He hastens — winter again grows cold.
A wet crew gain Hessian stronghold.

George can't lose war with's hands in;
He's astern — so go alight, crew, and win!

And thus ends day one of my alphabetic journey (a thrice-jumpy baloney). Just remember that anagrams, unlike footnotes (out, O stolen knife!), should only be used in moderation.<sup>1,2


1</sup> Er... domination!
² I regret that much of the above succumbed to silliness, but thankfully no footnotes were harmed in the making of this post (He fights a monk—Stop it!).