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I was pondering a very cool, deep Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM)*. And then I went to the petting farm with Destructo this morning. We took a hay ride into the middle of the cow pasture, where the farmer stopped the truck and scattered feed. Immediately, we were surrounded by cattle, some of them horned, mooing and jockeying for position. They were gigantic but gentle. Destructo was fascinated. He cooed over the mamas with their babies. He reached over the side of the hay ride to pet them. He mooed back. It was totally adorable.

Then the hay ride went on and dropped us at the petting barn. Destructo climbed up me, clawing at me like a baby monkey.

"NO!" he shouted. "No go in here!"

"Why not?" I asked. There didn't appear to be any monsters or even loose animals. But Destructo tried to crawl into my skin.

"I no like THAT!" he screamed, pointing.

I looked. And oh. my. God. I saw this:

Yeah, it's a baby goat.** About the size of a large house cat. By far the cutest thing (other than my kids) that I've seen all week. The little black one was the evil demon that had Destructo up in (my) arms.

It baaed and Destructo screamed. 700 pound horned cows=cute, but tiny long-lashed baby goat=Cujo, apparently.

And then I thought, "Maybe Destructo knows something I don't." Maybe he speaks goat. And maybe the goat is saying, "I am going to kill you." Or maybe he can inherently sense what that goat would do to his lovey.

There's a book here. I want horror, where the cutest animals in the barn are evil and nobody but the main character can tell. The baby goats are killers and Fern wouldn't want to be anywhere near the runt of the pig litter. It has to be a graphic novel, I think, so we can get pictures. And I want the main character to get caught wrestling the animals and for his mom to think he's crazy.

But no attack bunnies; that's been done.

Who will write me this book? And who can think of a better title than "Baaaad Boys" for it?





* I actually was; it will come next week, I think.
** Sorry so blurry; it's hard to take pictures with a terrified monkey on your head.

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Warning: this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) is about barf.

Christy's kids were sick this week. Over on Facebook, she lamented that the "puke fairy" had been for a visit. "Blech," I thought. "Poor thing."

And then I thought, "What if there WERE a puke fairy?"

Wouldn't it stink being the puke fairy? I mean, who wouldn't want to be the tooth fairy, who delivers shiny coins in exchange for old teeth? Or even the boob fairy, who my mom always told me came later? But the puke fairy?!

Let's face it: nobody likes the puke fairy. What's a little puke fairy to do?

David Shannon has a sweet book called Alice the Fairy, and Alice will be starring as the puke fairy in my version of this book.

The puke fairy's interactions all start very nicely. Glitter, sparkles, girly nonsense and giggles. And then, sure enough, BLAGHAGHAGHGAHAGH. Hee hee.

All the other fairies make fun of her. No little girls want to be her. Everyone screams when they see her coming. Mean kids throw apples at her. The little puke fairy just wants to be friends. She doesn't MEAN to make them spew. They just do.*

Now, wouldn't it be nice if at the end of the book, the puke fairy got to save the day?

Yeah, I can't figure out how either. But in case someone wants to write me this book, here are some names of famous people that mostly rhyme with "puke fairy:"

1. Luke Perry
2. Duke Harry
3. Drew Carey

*See, I even got you started with an unintentional rhyme.

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Which I hope makes you giggle like it does me.

Don't read the article for this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM). It's actually sad. But the headline made me smile:

From the AP:

Rare megamouth shark caught, eaten in Philippines

Apparently, fishermen caught a 1,100-pound, 13-foot megamouth shark. It died and they ate it, despite the begging of a WWF guy on board. But forget that part. Just look at its name. The megamouth shark.

From the minute they caught it, it wouldn't shut up. Blah blah blah. Salty enough for ya in the ocean? Blah blah blah. What's a shark gotta to do get some krill around this place? Hey you over there! I gotta itch my fin.

Did you ever read Martha Speaks? I'm picturing that kind of endless chatter, or maybe the Eddie Murphy donkey from Shrek. The WWF guy is begging everyone to let the shark live, but in the end, even he can't take the constant yammering any more. Fricassee it is.

But I need a title, and a good name for the shark. I want some good puns. Can you help? And who will write me this book?

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In which it is clear I have all the ingredients for silliness.

This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) was inspired by Professor Paula Vogel's "Bake-Off" for playwrights at Brown University. MFA students have 48 hours to write a play based on a literary character (one year it was Don Juan, for example); plays must also include the necessary "ingredients" (such as a master and servant, sword play, a statue, etc.).*

Off topic: This reminds me of college, where to entertain ourselves my roommate and I would assign each other phrases that had to appear in our essays. We started with academic phrases like "diametrically opposed" and eventually devolved into such things as "hide the money and run out the door."**

In any case, I am also cooking for Passover this week, so I am thinking about ingredients.

And then, a rash of strange thefts hit the news:

Thief nabbed with 68 tubes of toothpaste (Reuters)

Man pleads guilty to serial shrimp shoplifting (AP)

Man offers $69 for Klondike bar after shoplifting (TCPalm)

And this site, at which you can read about how El Pollo Loco's 20 foot high rubber chicken was stolen and Manuel Noriega's wife ripped off $485 worth of buttons.

So here is my question: what if all these people were in cahoots and the stolen items were the ingredients? What dastardly plan could they possibly have created that would require:

- 68 tubes of toothpaste
- a ton of shrimp
- one Klondike bar
- a 20 foot high rubber chicken
- and all the buttons from the clothing section at a department store?***

Here's my idea:
They're keeping something big happy. Like a great white shark. He needs lots of shrimp to eat and man, that shark's breath stinks afterwards. So someone has to brush for him with toothpaste. Lots of it. The rubber chicken is the only thing big enough and soft enough to pass for a great white shark toothbrush. And, um, the dastardly plan is to release the shark into Lake Michigan to terrorize people, but he only has so much salt water survival time so they have been training him to follow a trail of buttons back to their underwater lair. The Klondike bar is going to be tied to the shark's fin so humans will see a delicious snack instead of a scary fin, and will not scream or swim away.

What's your story?

* Thanks to my friend Erika for the link.
** which I actually squeezed into a psych paper, thank you very much.
*** It is possible that it was not the buttons which were necessary, but the NOT having buttons on the clothes

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There was absolutely no inspiring, appropriate, odd news this week. I was intrigued for a bit by the mysterious flash and boom over Virginia. But on Monday, they revealed it was a Russian space rocket.* And then on Tuesday, they said it was a meteor after all. I was kind of hoping Wednesday, there'd be further corrections along the lines of "scientists report the mysterious flash and boom was not, in fact, a meteor or a rocket, but..." and then say something absurd. In any case, my new rap name is "The Mysterious Flash and Boom."

And then, last night, just in the nick of time,** the Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) was saved: we got a message on the answering machine from one of Tink's friends.

"Hi, it's Belinda***," she said. "I am calling to ask if Tinkerbell could remember please to come to my house and gently wake me when she's on her way to fairyland tonight. I repeat, can Tinkerbell please come gently wake me so I can go to fairyland? Thank you."

I asked Tink, who answered. "It's because I turned her into a fairy and now I'm training her."

"Huh," I said, wondering how long it will be before I get a call from this kid's parents asking me why she sits outside the front door with a suitcase full of glitter every night.

And then I realized two things:

1. How is Tink convincing other kids she's a fairy and then dragging them into the fantasy with her any different than what I do as a writer?

2. This is a book, but it's not Tink's book; it's Belinda's. I want an early middle grade growing up story where the little girl meets a friend who convinces her they are both fairies. I want elaborate descriptions of fairyland and fun playing. I want other characters who may or may not be trolls and other fantastic creatures disguised as humans. And I want it totally ambiguous whether the fairy girl is really a fairy, really imaginative, or downright bonkers. The story is Belinda trying to figure it out and learning that, in many ways, it doesn't matter.

Who will write me this book?

And, to quote my favorite poet on the topic:

If you see a faery ring
In a field of grass,
Very lightly step around,
Tip-toe as you pass,
Last night faeries frolicked there
And they're sleeping somewhere near.
If you see a tiny faery,
Lying fast asleep
Shut your eyes
And run away,
Do not stay to peek!
Do not tell
Or you'll break a faery spell.

~ William Shakespeare ~


* This is a sign of the times, I think, that something in US air space can turn out to be "just" a Russian space rocket.
** What IS a nick of time? Anyone know the origin?
*** Not her real name.

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In which I am silly and link a lot.

This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) is no laughing matter. Ever mindful of your well-being, we here in Jacqui's Room* have been tracking this story for months.

You are not safe in your home. All across the country, attacks are happening. But it wasn't until Kristi found this, that I knew it had to be more than random happenstance:

Kangaroo intruder terrorizes sleeping family**

Don't go read the article. It's not funny at all. These poor people were truly terrorized and violently so. BUT, the article led to a break-through in my investigations.

See, I knew about the moose and the buck, but I figured they were clear cut cases of game on hunter revenge break-ins. The sheep I pegged for a football fan; who hasn't wanted to butt her head through a window watching the Niners? But then I remembered the squirrels. And the wolves. And the antics of this clearly deranged evil beast are well-documented. It was a definite pattern. But what did it mean?

Then I read about the kangaroo, and the house's owner, who said:

My initial thought, when I was half awake, was it's a lunatic ninja coming through the window.

He convinced himself it was "only" a kangaroo. But we know the truth, don't we? It WAS a ninja. A nine foot ninja with a pouch. WHO HAD TO BE TRAINED SOMEWHERE.

"Where?" you may ask. It's not like these guys are around any more (Oh wait, they are. Really? Does anyone watch them? Huh.).

ANYWAY, where could a kangaroo go to learn the ways of the ninja?

No, not here, though oh sweet God how hilarious would it be if I got to go here and video it for you all, who's in?

Will you PLEASE stay on topic? The only place these animals could go to learn their mind-bogglingly sneaky ninja ways is...

Bernie the Badger's House of Beastly Ninjutsu. Of course.**

Where the embittered ancient badger from Joysey trains the young in the ninjaly*** arts and plots his rebellion against the race who reduced his reputation to this.

Covering such topics as "You are Prey, I am Predator, Let's Call the Whole Thing Off: interspecies cooperation against a common enemy" and "Zen and the Art of Not Stopping to Munch on the Furniture," Bernie takes his students on a crash course to revolution. And if you act now, you'll also get Bernie's Master Class DVD: Four Legs, One Door (Ninja masks with special ear holes not included).

Who will write me this book?

* Yeah. It's just me. But "we" sounds more official, eh?
** Known as Bernie the Badger's House of Mammalian Ninjutsu, before the armadillo uprising of 2007.
*** That is too a word. Stuff it.

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This week, from my spot in hopefully sunny Florida, I am offering a Thursday News of the Absurd That Made Me Giggle Because I Have No Inspiration To Spare moment.

From the AP:

Woman uses wedgie to capture suspected thief

What can I possibly add? And it's not a play on words; check out the story.

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In which I indulge my inner kid who loves space stuff.

This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) fascinates me.

From the AP, by Seth Borenstein, AP Science writer:

Backward green comet makes one-time only visit

Apparently, an "odd, greenish backward-flying comet is zipping by Earth this month, as it takes its only trip toward the sun from the farthest edges of the solar system."

Okay, there is so much cool about this:

First, it's the ONLY time it will EVER come past Earth.

Second, any time something in space is green, it reads like a sci-fi adventure. And then the article says the green glow comes from poisonous gas!

Third, it was discovered by a Chinese teenager. If this is the only time it's going to come close enough to Earth to be seen, how did he find it? Wait! I looked it up. It's an AWESOME story: Quanzhi Ye has been wanting to find his own comet since he saw Hale-Bopp when he was 7. Okay, one of you has to write me his book too.

Fourth, its name is Lulin. I am not joking. It's named for the Taiwan observatory where it was first photographed, but it's a perfect character name, I think.

Fifth, there is commentary in the article from one "Donald Yeomans, manager of NASA's Near Earth Object program." That is the coolest job title I've heard this week. Plus, this comet is going to be 38 million miles away at its nearest-to-Earth point; talk about a range of influence.

Sixth, it flies backwards. Orbits in the opposite direction from most comets and its tail appears to go first.

I want a picture book, I think, about the adventures of Lulin the backwards green comet who travels 18 trillion miles to see the sun. Maybe her friends think she'll never make it. Maybe she's been saving up since she was a wee comet. Maybe you have better ideas you can share???

Also, the amazing photo above is by amateur astronomist Jack Newton, who also runs the coolest bed and breakfast in the world, and who was kind enough to give me permission to post his image here.

Now. That is a lot of material for you. Who will write me this book?

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In which I wish I had the fantasy life my children have.

I was ready to give up on this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM). And then I came downstairs after the kids' bedtime tonight and found this:

This is our Playmobile hospital. It is usually full of smiling doctors, miniature medical equipment, and healing children. Tink and Destructo were over here having a blast while Thor and I made dinner. Let's zoom in, shall we?







Something is afoot at the Playmobile hospital, methinks? Where is everybody? And all the equipment? What is that dinosaur doing? Whose baby is that on the ultrasound machine?!











Why is this woman wielding a spatula and a transparent gun?










It gets better. Check out the poor patient with the IV in the background:

Her hair has escaped and is running across the floor.












Lastly, I found these two shady characters in the broken elevator:

If I could imagine half of what was in my son's head while he did this, I'd be a far better writer for it.

But you, dear readers, YOU are full of imagination and powers of deductions. What do YOU think happened at the Playmobile hospital today? Who will write me this book?

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In which I bring the silly.

As promised, it's back to the picture book here in Jacqui's Room, including this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM).

From Telegraph.co.uk:

The tree that looks like a chicken

According to the article, it just grew like that. According to one local arboriculturalist, "There are all sorts of reasons why trees grow into the shapes they do." Apparently, the locals are baffled.

(photo also from telegraph.co.uk)




I am not baffled. I know why it looks like a chicken: because it IS a chicken! Maybe she was practicing black magic and got even more messed up than the car thief. Maybe she had a magic pebble and blew it even worse than Sylvester.

Or maybe someone is turning farm animals into flora.

I want the chicken mad, not worried. I want her grumbling in the "Oh, you have got to be kidding me" voice of Bea Arthur from The Golden Girls. I want groaner puns and a bleary-eyed fox who sees the tree and runs for his life. And on the endpage, I want the tree left behind shaped like, you guessed it, an egg.

Who will write me this book?

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This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) is not absurd at all; it's just a book I think one of you should write.

From YahooNews/AP:

Dina Vierny, the muse to sculptor Maillol, dies

I did not recognize the name Maillol immediately, though I recognized his work (my favorite, La Nuit, to the right). And I did not know Dina Vierny, but listen to her life story:

Born in 1919 in what is now the Moldovan capital, Chisinau, and was then part of the Russian empire, Vierny fled Stalinist Russia with her family, settling in France.

Through a family friend, she was presented to Maillol, becoming his model in 1935. She collaborated with the artist until his death in a car accident in 1944, inspiring sleek, bold works like "La Montagne" (The Mountain), "L'Air" (Air) and "La Riviere" (The River), one of his last works.

She worked for the French Resistance during World War II, eventually getting herself arrested. Maillol sent her to southern France to stay with his friend Henri Matisse, reportedly instructing him to use her as a model. They became fast friends. She eventually also posed for Raoul Dufy and Pierre Bonnard, who used her as inspiration for his "Grand Nu Sombre."

Vierny grew into an art lover in her own right, opening a gallery in Paris' artsy Saint-Germain-des-Pres district as early as 1947. The statement by her sons, Bertrand and Olivier Lorquin, said their mother spent a lifetime "passionately attached to art," as exemplified by works collected at the Musee Maillol.

Wow. She only escaped Stalinist Russia, inspired Maillol and Matisse, worked for La Resistance, was in prison, and started a museum? I want a biography, a well-written, possibly historical fiction based on her life, illustrated with photos of Maillol's sculptures.

And it should be in the style of, um, darnit. I haven't read enough good historical fiction for kids. Who do I want?

And which one of you will write me Dina's story?

* photo from Wikimedia Commons

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Baffled by banter? Creeping out your crushes? This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) is for you.

From Reuters (article by Anna Brooke):

Computer geeks learn to flirt

Even the most quirky of computer nerds can learn to flirt with finesse thanks to a new "flirting course" being offered to budding IT engineers at Potsdam University south of Berlin.

The 440 students enrolled in the master's degree course will learn how to write flirtatious text messages and emails, impress people at parties and cope with rejection.

Philip von Senftleben, an author and radio presenter who will teach the course, summed up his job as teaching how to "get someone else's heart beating fast while yours stays calm."

I love this idea. Who will write me a book from the point of view of the stiffest, most socially awkward of the students? I want the "flirting practice" scenes. I want a suave-to-the-point-of-slimy professor who was a famous Hollywood heartthrob twenty years ago. And what ARE the classes about? I am actually a big flirt, I must admit, but it never occurred to me to classify the skill in a syllabus! Hmm. What are the lessons?
Giggling
Hair Play
Pretending to Palm Read
What Material is That? And Other Excuses To Pet a Guy
Ugly Brother: The Ins and Out of Working with a Wing Man

What are yours?

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I'll be honest. I almost gave up today. I looked all over for a good story for today's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM). Nothing. I was momentarily amused, but ultimately uninspired by YahooTech's:

GPS, hidden cameras watching over Baby Jesus

I was ready to confess and call this post "I Got Plenty of Nothing."

But then this came in and gave me the chills:

(from YahooNews):

Wait a second: 2008 gets extended by timekeepers

Along with the economy, the Earth itself is slowing down, requiring timekeepers to add an extra second to their atomic clocks to keep in sync with Earth's slightly slowing rotation. So an extra second will be tacked on to Dec. 31 after 6:59:59 p.m. and before 7 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.

This is crazy to me. Who knew you could just add a second?! And can they add me an hour or two? And how much is the Earth slowing down that adding a second will make a huge difference?! And what time will it be during that second, 6:59:59 part deux?

But seriously. What if that adding that one second has drastic consequences? If we can stop all the world's clocks for one second, to give the Earth a chance to catch up, are we sure we can start them again? And what if we couldn't? What if it all screeched to a halt and people everywhere were frozen in the middle of dinners and bedtimes and getting ready for New Year's Eve, in the middle of crimes and secrets? Droplets of water suspended mid-air in the fountains. Absolute silence.

And what if, for some reason, you were the only one who escaped? You don't know how much time you have before the gears start grinding again. What do you fix? What do you change? How much messing around can you do before you upset a delicate balance and destroy us all?

And what is that noise? It sounds like footsteps. You're not alone. Someone else is out there. You can feel his presence in a subtle breeze, an echo that shouldn't be. All around you, the world is paralyzed. There's nobody to help you. And you're being hunted.

Who will write me this book?

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Were you worried that just because I've finally gone off the deep end it's December I would leave you inspiration-less? Have no fear, this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) is here!

From ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) News:

Colossal Squid Stops Traffic in Wellington


A giant squid has brought traffic to a standstill in the New Zealand capital of Wellington.

The 500-kilogram sea creature, which developed a world-wide following when it was defrosted over the internet,* has been moved to the country's national museum, Te Papa.

The headline is a bit of a rip-off. In reality, the squid didn't stop traffic; the police escort surrounding it did.

But in the book you are going to write me, it was the squid. Arthur. And he is not in a vehicle. He is just trying to get his holiday shopping done. Someone call David Wiesner and ask him to draw me a 200+ pound squid in an enormous sparkly red sweater with snowflakes and reindeer whose noses actually light up on it. I want shopping bags on his tentacles, and a Starbucks cup in one of them. Arthur, is oblivious to the stunned chaos he leaves in his wake. Ooh! Wait! It's the 12 Days of Christmas! As in, "On the first day of Christmas, my pet squid gave to me a Jane Fonda DVD" (with accompanying squid in exercise wear pictures...).

Who will write me the other verses???

* How do you defrost something over the internet?! I have gotten pretty "frosted" at AT&T this year, but never thawed.

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I'm back from the dentist and ha ha ha to all of you who thought my little affair with the corn made of candy was going to doom me. I am fine, and inspired by my dental hygienist, about whom I will blab tomorrow.

But today is Thursday, and you have a book to write me.

From the AP and USAToday:

Runaway poodle delays flights at Boston airport

Oh, yum. We're back to funny picture books. The article even gives you the first line. It begins:

"Choochy the poodle is a runway runaway."

I love it.

Apparently, Choochy escaped from her kennel and "scampered across runways and taxiways," successfully escaping "15 police, firefighters, operations personnel and even electricians" for more than 17 hours.

You go, Choochy!

Start with "Choochy the poodle is a runway runaway." I want the rollicking rhythm of Donna O'Neeshuk Was Chased By Some Cows. I want detail-filled illustrations of the airport in chaos. I want the 15 police, etc. travelling in a pack, slipping on airplane oil and backing into each other while Choochy ducks behind the curtain of a slow-moving luggage transporter. I want to notice something else hilarious every time I see the illustrations.

And I want to know WHY was Choochy on the run? What could have been so terrible? Was it something she learned about where the plane was headed?

OR, was she stalling? Was all Choochy's running just a cover for something else? Or someONE else, up to no good?

Most of all, I want funny. I'm tired of deep.

Will someone please write me this book?

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Which you should read while humming "Secret Agent Man" to yourself.

Welcome to this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM).

From Reuters:

Official fined for leaving secret files on train


A senior civil servant who left secret intelligence files relating to Iraq and al Qaeda on a train was fined 2,500 pounds on Tuesday.

Apparently, 37 year-old Richard Jackson* claims to have "inadvertently" taken home two files and "mislaid" them on the train from London Waterloo to Surrey.

In other news, Richard Jackson has a bridge to sell us.

I mean come ON. One of the files was labeled "Top Secret." They were found when they were sent to the BBC. And we're supposed to believe there's no other story here.

There is another story here and you are going to write it.

First, you're the kids who get onto a train from London Waterloo to Surrey and find the files. You've intercepted a drop, the final delivery of information after weeks of espionage between Richard Jackson and Insert Country Here. Now, you're caught in the middle and you're not sure your own countrymen are the good guys.

I want action action action, but it needs more. Why should we care? Maybe Richard Jackson is your uncle, or your father, and you have to choose between not wanting to destroy him and doing the right thing. Plus, your family is broke and could really use the money one side is offering for the information, if you can trust them. Oh! The files contain information about something that's going to happen, something big, that you have to try to stop. But you're no hero. You're just trying to stay invisible long enough to pass fifth grade and to live down the embarrassment of having to be carted out of the fifth grade sex ed movie because you gasped and choked on your chewing gum.

Oh, and you hate the other kid who found the files with you. You were only on the train together because you're mother insisted you be nice to him because he's new. But he's younger and louder and maybe you don't trust him, don't like him. And he's got an impossibly annoying habit of leaning forward and poking your chest when he makes a point. Not a kid you'd ever hang out with in real life, but now you're irrevocably linked to and reliant on one another.

I want Mission: Impossible but with a reluctant ten year-old Tom Cruise and Superfudge as a side kick.

And the title is, um, up to you. Some spy novel pun on trains and files.

Who will write me this book?




* Presumably not MY Richard Jackson, the amazing editor formerly at Atheneum who discovered yours truly and published The New Girl...And Me.

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Welcome to this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM).

From UPI:

Nevada man's "micro-nation" bans Texas goods

"A man who declared his own nation in Nevada says his wife's recent move to Texas led him to ban all the state's products from "Molossia."

Kevin Baugh, 46, of the Dayton area, who 10 years ago declared himself ruler of his 1.3-acre micro-nation that also claims his two adult sons as citizens, said the defection of his soon-to-be ex-wife to Texas led him to outlaw all Texas-related items from the land under his rule, the Reno (Nev.) Gazette-Journal reported Monday."

Okay, first, this is the best post-break-up ex punishment I have ever heard. If the Mighty Thor ever leaves me, I am placing an embargo on all goods from his state.

Second, what if Mr. Baugh, or someone who did something similar, had another child besides the adult sons? What if he had a twelve year-old daughter who was just starting at her middle school? What if he made her sign up as a foreign exchange student?

I don't want angsty; I want a funny but touching middle grade novel, like Linda Urban's A Crooked Kind of Perfect. Don't make fun of the dad. Play with the possibilities for the kid. Imagine parent-teacher conferences. Imagine bringing a boy you like home to meet your dad/president of your sovereign nation within the state of Nevada. Imagine explaining to a friend's parent why you can't eat the Texas grapefruit she is offering.

Who will write me this book?

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This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) means no offense to lovers of porridge.

From the Golden Spurtle press release:

"Porridge enthusiast, Ian Bishop beat off tough competition to take the title of World Porridge Making Champion 2008 as expert porridge makers from far and wide gathered in the Scottish Highland village of Carrbridge on Sunday to compete for the coveted Golden Spurtle* Trophy."

Apparently, Mr. Bishop, who finally won after 15 years of trying, attributed his victory to his secret ingredient: "the water he uses which comes from a bore hole tapped 100 feet down into an underground river."

River water? Not a magic pot?

Do you think the judges go down the line of porridge bowls tasting and muttering, "too hot" or "too cold" until they find the winner that is "just right?"

Has the contest ever been interrupted by guys in bear suits running through screaming, "Mine! Mine!"? Because that's what I would do. And then I'd get beat up by porridge enthusiasts. And next year's "specialty" category champion would be Porridge Con Guts de Jacqui.

Okay, I know there's a great way to make this a picture book, but I need help.

One idea: Lumpy the Turtle is living a normal turtle life until a porridge enthusiast begins draining Lumpy's home for his "secret ingredient." Curious, Lumpy tries the porridge and falls in love. Now Lumpy devours porridge. More, he makes the best porridge in the world. But the Golden Spurtle competition is only open to humans. How can Lumpy convince everyone his porridge deserves to compete and to win the grand prize, a t-shirt that proudly reads "Porridge: Thicker Than Gruel"?** I want Lisa Campbell Ernst's fabulous Sam Johnson and the Blue Ribbon Quilt. But with a turtle and porridge instead of gender bias and quilting.

Meh. I know you can think of something better. Lumpy need not appear. I just find porridge hilarious. Will someone please write me this book?

* A spurtle is a utensil for stirring porridge. Not what comes out when the water fountain is broken. Or a Spanish turtle.
** Oh, how I would love to spend the rest of the day coming up with advertising slogans for porridge:
"Keep some porridge in your storage."
"Don't forage. Eat porridge!"
"Porridge, because look what comes with curds and whey."
"Featuring Mama Bear's Po-riginal recipe!"

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There will be a slight delay in this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM).

With which of the following do you place the blame for this delay:

1) unforeseen flight difficulties as I travel the globe collecting fascinating and inspiring absurd news stories to share with you,

2) the fact that the careful system of AT&T wires that my AT&T boyfriend Steve designed for me now looks like this -->

0r, 3) the aforementioned nekkedness problem?

Truthfully, it's none of those. I have been inspired on my one little scene and have vowed to have it to my agent by the end of the week. So I am writing writing writing.

But I am in love with the news story this week, so please check back later today or tomorrow, okay?

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In which I shamelessly plug the work of my oldest friend.

From See.Also:

15,000 Library Books Are Found in Lawyer's Village Apartment

"In 1975, Joseph Feldman, a 58-year-old lawyer in New York City, was discovered to have stolen 15,000 books from the New York Public Library. He had rented two or three apartments specifically to store these books, and it took 20 men, 7 truckloads over 3 days to remove them all.

Books covered the stove. Books filled the bathtub and sinks. There was only a small passageway leading through the apartment, not room enough to live.

But why did he do it?"

Why indeed! This fascinates me. Will someone PLEASE write me this book?

Wait, someone already wrote the play!* If you live in or near Philly, go see it at the Philly Fringe Festival this weekend (click here). Feldman and the Infinite was written by my friend Erika Mijlin, who is a creative genius and to whom I babbled at the age of zero. So go go go! And report back to the rest of us, because I am fascinated by this story.

In the meantime, I think he was housing and feeding an Ink Drinker. What do you think?

* This is really a Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book -- Hey! Look! Someone Wrote the Play! Moment. I know this is two weeks in a row that you have been left uninspired and probably crying for lack of anything to write; I promise a return to our regularly schedule TNoftheAWSPWTBIM next week.

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With which I guarantee karmic gymnastics-related injuries to my children

This week we have a Thursday News of the Absurd Will These Administrators Please Get a Grip Rant-Inspiring Moment...

From Yahoo News:

Australian School May Backflip on Cartwheel Ban

"An Australian school which recently banned its students from doing cartwheels, somersaults and other gymnastics during recess is reviewing the decision after parents and students got all bent out of shape."

Apparently, the school had banned gymnastics at recess due to the threat of injury.

Huh. Perhaps it would be best also to ban walking (danger of tripping), reading (squinting may cause damage to eyesight, plus there is always the issue of paper cuts), water fountains (choke hazard), writing (there is simply not a safe enough writing implement), and reading this article (toxic exposure to overuse of puns). Students could be required to wear helmets and knee pads to school, where they would sit in padded chairs that are bolted to the ground (to prevent tipping), no less than arm's length away from other students (violence), and listen to volume-moderated lectures from stuffed replicas of instructors (actual teachers being far too dangerous).

Apparently, "the school had classified gymnastic activities a 'medium risk level 2' danger to children when performed in class."

I'd guess other "medium risk level 2" activities include trigonometry (causes hair-pulling in some students) and wearing your pants too short (provokes spitball attacks). At the top of the "High Risk Level 1" list? Going to a school run by terrified morons.

I am reminded of the wisdom of one of the world's great literary characters, Dory from Finding Nemo. When Nemo's dad justifies his over-protection of his son by asserting that he promised his son he would never let anything happen to him, Dory responds, "Huh. That's a funny thing to promise....You can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him. Not much fun..."

What other activities do you think they should be ban?

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In which I describe the book I want you to write, which will have a far better title that the one above.

This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) focuses on where I want your next book to be set.

From Martin Rogers at Yahoo Sports:

Beijing Trumps Athens...and Then Some

Apparently, the pundits* are impressed with Beijing's handling of the Olympics, and how the Chinese used the Olympics to create structures that will continue to serve the city. Athens, in contrast, is apparently not doing as well:

"Four years since the Athens Games, a Greek tragedy is taking place. Incredibly, many of the 22 Olympic venues now lie abandoned, as a sad and litter-strewn reminder of sport’s greatest festival.

Gypsy camps have sprung up in the shadow of stadiums where the world’s finest athletes once battled for gold. Graffiti is scrawled over the outer walls of many sites, and it has been reported in Greece that upward of $1 billion has been spent simply to maintain these ugly wrecks."

Sad, I know. But will someone please write me a mystery set in Athens post-Olympics??? I want Blue Balliet's Chasing Vermeer, but scarier. Make it set in modern times, but with shadowy hints that the ancients are involved. Make Greek mythology and history central to solving the mystery.

Mostly, I want a spooky abandoned arena with baffling graffiti and definitely rats. Give me the main character exposed and alone in the middle of the field at twilight as his pursuers gather in the stands. He can't see them because stands are in shadows, though a fading golden sun still lights the field. He can't hear them because the gypsies outside are too loud, speaking in a language he doesn't understand that joins with the whispers of the ghosts of the ancients to form a modern Greek chorus singing his doom...

Will someone please write me this book? And it will be called... Oh, my title muse is nowhere to be found. Ideas in the comments, please!

*You know, all those experts on post-Olympic status of a city as compared to its rivals.

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Welcome to this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM). The actual news story is sort of sad, but bear with me.

From Reuters:

"About 60 newly hatched sea turtles lost their way during their ritual passage to the sea and marched into an Italian restaurant instead, a conservation worker said on Monday."


According to the article, the turtles were "probably thrown off track and lured by the eatery's bright lights." They were later caught and released into the sea. Kind of a sad story; where I grew up in Florida, there are restrictions on outside lights during turtle-hatching season and one hopes the restaurant will be careful now.

BUT, what if they weren't confused? What if they were just tired of seafood?

I am picturing hundreds of sea turtles at café tables with red and white checkered tablecloths demanding more pasta, harried waiters rushing with trays overflowing with food, the gray-haired piano man flanked by music-loving turtles singing along. I want rollicking rhyme* and lots of ocean puns. And at the end, I want turtles headed to the sea with take-out boxes, leaving behind waitstaff baffled by seashell tips.

Will someone please write me this book?

* But the meter must be absolutely perfect; bad meter and imprecise rhyme are my number one picture book pet peeves.

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In which I am absolutely juvenile.

Welcome to this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM). If this is your first TNoftheAWSPWTBIM, see how it all started here.

From the AP:

South Korean Firm Delivers Commercial Dog Clone

Apparently, a South Korean company "says it is the world's first successful commercial canine cloning service." It's first delivery? A litter of five pit bull puppies cloned from a customer's two-years-dead dog.

The dog's name? Booger.

Does anyone else feel that a litter of five genetically-engineered pit bulls named "Booger" is a middle grade humorous action novel waiting to happen?

The article goes on to quote:

"'It's a miracle!' McKinney repeatedly shouted Tuesday when she saw the cloned Boogers at a Seoul National University laboratory."

Heh heh. Cloned boogers. Armies of identical mucus blobs.

Where is Dav Pilkey when you need him? Who will write me and the rest of the second grade this book?

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In which the TNoftheAWSPWTBIM moves from our "hooved animals in police custody" theme to our "teens misbehaving" theme.*

Conference or no conference, I could not stand to skip this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM).

Sometimes, I have to search high and wide for odd news that's appropriate. Sometimes, the news inspires a question in me that is unrelated to the actual story (like Tank on the Lam). This week the story jumped up and hit me in the head from the headline alone:

From Reuters:

Teen Girl's Bank Robbing Days Over

Apparently, French police arrested a 16 year-old girl who "played a crucial role in six previous bank robberies since the beginning of July, threatening staff with a gun to force them to open security doors to let in two or three masked accomplices."

Wow. Will someone please write me this book? Not the story of how a 16 year-old girl falls in with a crowd of bank robbers. Meh. Too serious. I want a first person girl-led adventure story in the voice of a French Annie Oakley. I want dopey co-robbers and men who don't think she can best them until she shoots their berets** off. And I want a satisfying reason she lets herself get caught in the end (because they'd never catch her if she didn't let them).

And after you write it, I want a cut of the movie rights. But I can't think who could play Brigitte. Hmm...***

* Just think of the poor souls who are going to google "teens misbehaving" and end up here. Serves them right. Heh heh.
** Yes, I am aware that not everyone in France wears berets. But I like the image.
*** ...much fight urge to spend all the time allotted for revising today playing around on internet casting movie of book nobody has written...

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