Another from the twisted genii that brought us Thou Shalt Always Kill.
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Category Archives: writing
quiz: Poe or Noe?
The latest in our series of interactive, quizzy-type activities is this little gem, which tests your knowledge of one of the most overwriterly of all overwriters, Edgar Alan Poe. Can you guess which is Poe and which is a nobody? Let me just say that apparently I need to lay off the Cthulhu and review the House of Usher.
it’s quiet. too quiet
It may well be quiet around here (that’s the natural aftermath of fighting off a venomous spider…you really just want to go lie down and have food and refreshing beverages brought to you) but I know somewhere that’s simply radiating vitality, having sprung fully-formed from the forehead of Coco Chanel.
What are you still doing here? The other blogger has 15 welcoming comments in her introductory post. Moi? Goose egg. And I’m too proud to invent sock puppets to post paens to myself.
Barely.
It’s a children’s fashion blog with celebrity overtones (because I write for it, y’all), and if you must know I wrote it yesterday wearing stirrup pants and a Starbucks gimme t, with a wad of greasy deep conditioner in my hair, whereas today I wrote it wearing my sister’s overalls (so hot this year, and boy am I lucky) another Starbucks gimme t, and a shaker knit cardigan. I’m not eating pizza, but I should be, to get the look right.
As I said before: what are you still doing here? Go, read, enjoy, comment, blogroll, Technorati Fave and all other assorted Operation Global Media Domination furthering activities! That’s H T T P : / / T E E N Y M A N O L O . C O M, y’all!
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rant o’ the day: engrish angst
I love the “Next Blog” button on WordPress.com. I read the most interesting things that way. Today, after a far-too-long spell of nothing but missionary blog after mommy blog after missionary blog after mommy blog after real estate spammer, I came across the following, and let me tell you, it was refreshing.
In fact, it was so refreshing, let me tell you again.
It was refreshing.
There, I said it.
Well, it was.
I mean, how many “Gosh, Joe-Bob Junior is six months old today! I can hardly believe it, but it was his four month check up sixty days ago and I guess Susan’s mom says that makes it six months and Susan’s mom’s really smart. I hope I raise my youngsters like Susan’s mom. Susan turned out really cool. Not like me, lol, my mother would look at me and say “Your a mess” well i am, and i mean to lose this baby weight i WILL but it all takes time and meanwhile I am a BIG BEAUTIFUL WOMAN not some stick figure like those girls on the tee vee that Big Joe-Bob watches all the time,” can you really read without wanting to put your fist through the cathode ray tube and saw through your carotid artery with the shards of glass?
Not too many.
And along came this:
I want talk singlis and bad engrish today.
I grow so many fats. Now I like pig so fat like that. EEEEEEE. Last time I smile can see cheekbones, now see what? FATS. I go jogging jus now and I cannot run at all lor. My legs like make of metal like that.
Now I wan to slim down! ON DIET! But also mus exercise lor.
Anywayssxzxz, I sood be in GENTING NOW. But I in SINGAPORE!!! I HATE O’S AND PRELIMS!!!!!!!! dRiViNg mE cRaZyYyYy!!!!!!!
Yes, apparently they are.
But still, think about it. One of the things everyone slobbers all over Hemingway for is his unique use of language. And, really, it’s the only thing going for Dickens besides the broad appeal of mawkishness. This blog entry is, I suggest, as different from the run of the mill English you read as Runyon or Shakespeare, and possibly even Spencer.
And far more amusing.
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pic o’ the day: notice!
So this one time I was down at the Heather, and, in fact, I’ve been there more than just the one time; I’m there all the damn time, in fact, I was there today, only this one time? That was not this time. It was a completely different time. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
What? I only had two drinks!
So this time, I was down at the Heather and so were quite a number of other people, it being, I think, a Friday, and don’t we all need a good, stiff drink of a Friday? Indeed we do, and particularly myself. And one of these other people, a loquacious and somewhat recovering-fratboy-type fellow of a certain girth and a certain volume, was telling another, a much more discreet and forgettable straight man type in a hat, that he loved living on the Downtown EastSide, and why? Why, because he could take pictures of the junkies tweaking in the alley and post them to his blog.
And, as he said this, I wrote it down.
Cuz that’s how I roll, yo.
And, as I wrote it down, the manageress discreetly elbowed said frat-alum and pointed in my direction for, lo, she knows my evil, gossip-recording shenanigans from way back, and is generally the sharpest knife in the drawer to boot.
And fratboy, looking straight at me, said, “OH! Well I guess I better be careful! Big Brother is watching!”
And I said, still writing and without looking up, “Yes, but at least he’s not taking pictures and uploading them to his blog.”
Which got, it must be said, a fair round of applause, if no free drinks.
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raincoaster 