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Easter

3/25/2016

I’m not one for holidays (except Halloween, of course). Easter is no exception. Here’s what I associate with Easter: death. Also, weight gain due to excess peanut-butter egg consumption. However, I try to make the best of it. Luckily, I’m surrounded by some twisted people who make that a bit easier for me.

Take, for instance, my boss. Last year, he made this Easter decoration especially for me:

Why yes, that is a bunny in a boiling pot. I believe this puts to rest any argument you might try to make that your boss is better than mine. Because clearly, you are wrong.

In addition to my awesome boss, I also work with a woman who managed to escape a stifling, intolerant religious childhood by leaving Arkansas as soon as she was old enough to drive north. (She remarked once that one of the nicest things about living in New England was seeing people not afraid to be openly gay.) While she has worked hard to put her churchgoing nightmares behind her, I’ve found her to be a great resource when I’m trying to figure out a plot point in a story that I might need religious clarification on. We recently had this conversation:

Me: I’m trying to work on an Easter story, and most of my knowledge about the holiday comes from Jesus Christ Superstar. Can you tell me which chapter and verse in the Bible it is where Herod asks Jesus to walk across his swimming pool?

Jackie: You do realize Andrew Lloyd Webber took some liberties with the gospels when he wrote that play, right?

Me: What? How dare you speak such sacrilege!

Luckily, Jackie is used to me, and saw this as an opportunity to have a teaching moment.

Jackie: I would think you’d like the story of Christ’s last days and the apostles. It’s really more of a horror story.

Me: Well, sure, Judas betraying Christ with a kiss was pretty terrible. And Christ telling everyone to eat his flesh was icky. But I’m not sure there’s a horror story there.

Jackie: You do know Peter was crucified upside-down, don’t you?

Me: Why no, I must have missed that in my kindergarten Sunday school class. Let’s go get a bottle of Christ blood and a loaf of flesh, and we’ll discuss.

You know, I think I’ve gotten this holiday all wrong. Easter might be even creepier than Halloween.

Happy Easter and Passover, everyone!
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This week from The Storyside:

Missing St. Patrick’s Day already? Rob Smales has a leprechaun treat for you in “Gotcha,” Part 1 and Part 2!

“Six Authors I Love”—I’m pretty sure the title says it all in this piece by Stacey Longo (hey, that’s me!)

“A Conversation with Author Jay Atkinson” is David Daniel’s attempt to probe the mind of Atkinson, author of Massacre on the Merrimack and other works!

Sisterly Love

3/18/2016

In honor of my sister's St. Patrick's Day birthday, I thought I'd tell you all a little more about her (and us).

This is my sister before I was born. She lived a carefree life of catching frogs in the pond, digging in the dirt for worms, and generally being an adorable toddler.
See how happy she is?

Then I came along and promptly tried to eat her face.

What? You thought I was kidding?

Kim took the responsibilities that came with being the big sister very seriously. She hugged me when I cried, tried to comfort me when I woke up in the night and cried, and patiently tried to give me a bottle when I was hungry and cried. There were times that the only thing that would comfort me was trying to take a bite out of my sister's cheek.
Luckily for my parents, they had one sweet-tempered child.

That child was not me.

It became evident early on that my sister was the sensible one. The one who knew not to pick up snapping turtles or lick jellyfish when they washed up on the beach. (What? They looked like candy.) If she wanted a toy, she did more chores to earn money, and she saved up for that toy. On the other hand, I was more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of kid who would wait until my generous sister let me play with her new toy (as she inevitably did), and then dared to ask: would Ballerina Barbie's hair grow back if you cut it? (Answer: no.) Honestly, Kim put up with a lot.

But here's the thing about my big sister: despite the fact that we might seem, on the surface, very different, we're a lot alike. We both hoard purses and shoes and shampoo and all things Duran Duran. We both watch Survivor religiously and then talk the next day about who got voted off. One time, after we went shopping at Whole Foods and were feeling all self-righteous about our purchases, I accidentally ran over a large frog. Splattered him all over the front wheel. Instead of making me feel guilty about it, Kim laughed until tears rolled down her face.
She also knows that when I get in my darkest, bleakest moods, the best cure is to go see Duran Duran in concert again. (She and I will be seeing our boys again in April . . . for the seventh time.) She doesn't judge me, or make me feel bad when I forget to mail her and her husband's anniversary card on time and have to run it over to her house and tuck it in the mailbox a day late. (Bonus: she also had the common sense to marry a wonderful guy, and he never makes me feel bad, either.) And nobody can make me laugh like my sister.
I'm happy to report that I've outgrown my tendency to try and gum her cheek. I do still try to pick her nose once in a while, though (third picture in the strip).

Happy birthday, Kim. Thanks for being the best big sister in the world.

How to De-Stress

3/10/2016

Stress is an amazing thing. It can manifest itself physically in so many ways: some people lose their hair; others have chronic stomachaches; some turn into fire-breathing dragons (guilty!). I’ve decided to scope out some of the experts’ top de-stressing techniques and report on how well they work.

Tip #1: Take a Walk. Sounds like a great idea, right? We’ve had a mild winter, the weather has been nice, and walking boosts endorphins and crap. You know what else gets a boost in warm weather? Tick reproduction. You will also find an increase in daytime skunk roaming, snapping turtle mating—right in the middle of the nature trail (honestly, they have no shame), and general wasp and hornet activity. Have fun on your walk. I’m staying indoors.

Tip #2: Eat a Snack. Now we’re talking, right? According to Dr. Drew Ramsey, some scientific guy I found online, “The connection between the gut and brain is huge . . . the gut is a major mediator of the stress response.” Sounds good to me. The rest of the article went on to talk about healthy snacking habits, but my attention span isn’t what it used to be, what with all this stress I’m under. I spotted the word “apple” and figured the rest of the sentence was “pie, served hot, with a scoop of ice cream, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream on top.” This was absolutely a stress-busting winner. Except now I’m stressing about my weight.

Tip #3: Buy a Plant. More science-y people claimed that this was a sure-fire winner, because some people in a study had a drop in blood pressure when they were near plants. Here’s the thing: I have naturally low blood pressure, so being around a plant might plunge it to dangerously low levels. Also, I have a black thumb, and would inevitably have stress and guilt over killing the plant—which will happen. Between my inability to remember to water it, and Wednesday’s and Pugsley’s affinity for destroying all things green, that plant doesn’t stand a chance. And don’t suggest a cactus. I’ve seen those cats use cactus thorns as toothpicks.

Tip #4: Turn Off Your Phone. This tip was a hands-down winner. Like many introverts, I hate talking on the phone more than getting a root canal. From a dentist in Guantanamo Bay. While wearing an outfit made of angry scorpions.

Tip #5: Drink Green Tea. Green tea is purported to be full of antioxidants, which can improve brain function, promote weight loss, and lots of other words I don’t understand like “flavonoids” and “catechins” (which is not the same thing as Catholic religious classes, as it turns out). But green tea is kind of . . . bland. And weak. I decided to substitute a different green drink, also proven to have magical healing properties. That’s right: shamrock shakes are out right now, and they are good for the soul. Three green shakes later, and I was feeling on top of the world. And bloated.

This carefully conducted research led me to two conclusions. One: even the stress experts believe phones are a tool of Satan. Two: If you must be stressed, try and do it in March, during shamrock shake season.

You’re welcome.
_______________
This week from The Storyside:

Vlad V. reviews Very Mercenary by Rayo Casablanca!

I talk about some of my favorite books from my impressionable childhood years!

And check this out: I interviewed Rob Smales about his new book, Echoes of Darkness!

Our stress-busting (and pants-busting) winner!

Dehydrated

3/4/2016

Here I am, working dehydrating magic.

I've developed a new addiction as of late. This is all Sue's fault. See, she brought these veggie chips in one day to work, and they were good. Really good. Like, "Let's skip lunch and just inhale this whole container" good. We almost came to blows over the last carrot chip.
The problem is that the tastiest chips are made by Aurora, and they cost $7.49 per eight ounces. So it's an expensive addiction.
"Can you make your own?" Jason asked, grumbling over the $30/week habit I'd developed.
"Probably, if I had a dehydrator," I said, through a mouthful of taro root chips. So we ordered one.
Once it arrived, I couldn't wait to get started. First up: bananas.
I cut them too thick, I didn't pre-treat them with lemon juice to prevent browning, and I didn't leave them in long enough. They looked like flattened, gooey rabbit turds. I was not easily deterred, however. I just needed to try something else. (Not celery, though. That was also a fail, unless you like eating mushy, flavorless sticks.)
I peeled, cored, and sliced all of the apples in the house. It's pretty hard to mess up apples. I set to dehydrating.
Success! They came out perfectly—I'd remembered the lemon juice, sliced them to the perfect thickness, and they were leathery, tasty, and ... small.
As I ate the entire batch over the course of the next forty-five seconds, I thought about the magical shrinky-dink qualities of the dehydrator. How could I use this new power for good?
Or evil?
The apples really did have a shoe-leather quality about them. What if I tried to dehydrate a shoe? Would it shrink? Or just turn brown and rabbit-turd-like? I like to think of myself as a scientist. And science wanted to know what would happen to a shoe.

This. This happens.

Pretty amazing, right? I started tossing everything I could find in there. Old clothes, the garbage ... whatever we had lying around the house. An old spatula. The sofa.
When Jason came home, he was alarmed. He did not seem at all impressed that his entire tie collection was now the perfect size for a Kewpie doll. I eyed him. You know, Jason's a tall guy. It's hard to find clothes for him. If he were just a little bit smaller ...
Apparently, Jason recognized (and feared) the glint in my eye. He promptly grabbed his car keys, his favorite t-shirt (how did I miss that?), and took off. I haven't seen him since Tuesday.

I'm not going to lie—this dehydrating thing is addictive. You've been warned: nobody is safe.

On the plus side, Pugsley's lost some weight.

This week from The Storyside:

My friend Rob Smales has a new book out! I interviewed him about it HERE.
"Myths About Being a Writer" by Stacey Longo (hey, that's me!)
Part 8 of Ursula Wong's "From Idea to Printed Page" series

Easter

Sisterly Love

How to De-Stress

Dehydrated

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