Remember That Guy? Yeah, He's Back....

Contrary to what all those drug companies tell you, depression can be funny. You can be bopping along, ready to enjoy a week and a half of vacation and the next thing you know, you're standing in AutoZone and in walks an Amish guy who puts your "awesome" vacay beard to shame (true story). So it has, or had, been for me over the time I've been away from the blog-o-sphere. I do tend toward the weird side of things and depression is one of them. I think it's just because I think Kurt Cobain was a genius that I suffer from depression and IBS (which I love to call Crohn's Disease), although I have been officially diagnosed with both. The last time I posted, I was getting set to go to New York for a camping trip. Well, that didn't happen. And then I was getting set to go to PA for a camping trip. Some of that happened. I went to PA, I hiked for five hours, I set up my camp, I got lonely, I packed up my camp, I drove home. See, funny. LOL! Usually, when I get down, I function okay. I go to work, I cook, I eat. My main depression "tell" is that I don't want to be seen by people. I don't start drinking, I don't get suicidal and I don't kill other people, I just hide. Kinda like Sasquatch. Because I am the law I can pretty much sit in my office all day and only go out for calls if I feel crappy. Then, it's straight home to cook and eat. One of the reasons why I got rid of my Grand Cherokee was this hide response. It had dark tinted windows that allowed me to hide, lengthening my episodes. So, it was funny (there's that word again) for me to get out in the woods - alone - and get lonely. Luckily for me wife is kinda crazy, too. She can understand my pain, although she still bugs me about the money I spent on camping stuff. In case you're wondering, I'm better now. I'm out in public (even tho I hate people; see: Trip to Lowe's), I'm doing what needs done and I'm actually happy(ish). To top it all off, if you can see and read, I'm Tweeting (@NakiaDJohn). Why? Because I'm awesome! And I'm working on building my platform. What's a platform. Well, kids, a platform is a term coined by writing professionals. In short: it is you. Your exposure in the world, your marketability, your advertisement for yourself. Why am I working on my platform? Cause I write. This blog, and The Lost Ranger, were originally for practice. Just a public writing exercise. Helping me get my thoughts down and out. This, and my super childish imagination, has lead me to start my first novel. I won't tell you what it's about just in case I stop writing (or it sucks) but I'm on my way. I've also submitted a couple short stories; one to Albedo for the Aeon Award and one to Black Static. I've got my fingers crossed and my face to the sun. And it's ninety degrees so I'm going back inside.

Today's Guest Blogger: Cherie Priest

Because I'm still in love with New Orleans and because the city just so happens to be located close to the Gulf of Mexico, the oil slick/spill/fiasco has got me kinda pissed. But, instead of writing out a long, ranting post about what you can do to help, I'll just direct you here. As an added bonus, Cherie Priest writes some awesome steampunk fiction (Boneshaker is not X-Rated like I thought...but it's still a good read) and will sign her books that you order from U-Dub's bookstore, so be sure to check out the rest of her site.

On The Daddy Tip #14

A wise man once said "When The Hulk gets angry, he turns into Chuck Norris." Well, when Chuck Norris gets angry, he turns into daughter. All of a sudden, it seems overnight, daughter has devolved into a Terrible Two. Wife doesn't know when it happened. I sure as hell don't know when it happened because I was at work. We both just woke up one day and daughter had grown horns. And let me tell you something: It sucks!! The slightest provocation results in daughter putting her hands in her mouth and screaming and crying. Naturally, because I follow my own Daddy Tips, daughter has been left standing in several grocery stores (the police know where she lives now and just bring her home) but ignoring these new mega-tantrums doesn't seem to be working too well. It may even be exacerbating the problem. On a bad day, we can average about three full blown tantrums an hour, and because wife has decided that nap time is no longer necessary...It sucks!! So, Ive come up with a new solution that's not really new: Once the TT's pop off, you've gotta start listening to your kid. It's not rocket science and it's so easy to do. When a kid starts erupting with all the whine just look them in the eye, gently take their hands out of their mouth and ask.... "Want some cheese with that?" LOL! I couldn't resist! No, really, just look them in the eye and ask them "What do you need?" Nine times out of ten the kid will look at you and explain what's wrong. The tenth time, well, that's probably not your kid and I would strongly suggest to you, if you want to avoid jail-time, that you remove your hands from them immediately!

Floyd? Floyd, Please? You're Embarrassing Yourself.

There are a few things about competitive cycling that stink. First, from what I've heard, the smell of The Tour de France peloton near the ends of each stage; Second, saddle sores; Third, doping. And now you can officially add one more thing to that list: Floyd Landis. Without getting into a rant about how Landis was a punk from day one and that there was no way in hell that a guy with a degenerative hip disorder could have won a Tour without something in his blood stream, Landis has taken it upon himself to bitch and moan about Lance Armstrong; going so far as to say that Armstrong was doping during his Tour wins. Ass. I'm no Lance fanboy but that shit's just ridiculous. If Landis had been sober during Armstrong's Tour streak he would have noticed that the French hated Lance. Cycling fans, media, Tour organizers, all had it in for Armstrong. As a consequence, Armstrong's blood was drawn so many times he could have given himself a transfusion. I'll admit, I've backed the wrong horse (really, he's training other cyclists now?) before but the attitude of "I'm taking a lot of people down with me" is just too much from Landis. Hey Floyd, why don't you take your Robo-Hip and your "prescriptions" back to your family farm and live out your days in obscurity like I'm doing after my "brilliant" cycling career?

Who's on Parade

Daughter has recently become a connoisseur of a select few movies. Namely: Cinderella, Ratatouille, The Little Mermaid and Horton Hears a Who. She has seen each of these movies so many times that she knows the words and will sing along to the songs. Before you blame wife and I of shirking our parental duties, daughter also knows the words to each of her three Maisy books, both of her Little Wombat books and I Know a Rhino. But this post is about movies so, think bad thoughts if you must. Recently, brought about through the numerous viewings of Horton... I have noticed a peculiar and troubling thing: I think the Who's are ants! I guess that isn't so troubling in and of itself actually, because who doesn't love ants? I know I do! No, what troubles me about the Who's being ants is that I think they may be born into their stations in life. Why does that trouble me, you ask? 'Cause, like ants, the Who's being born into their stations means that they are born with the stuff they need to do their jobs. By stuff I mean their clothes! Slash Fur! Yeah, that's right, the Who's are nekkid! If you look very closely....NO! You don't see their junk! Pay attention! Ahem...If you look very closely you can kinda sorta maybe at times see that the Who clothes is fur. If you say "pshaw" well, ask yourself this: Why do you think none of them wear pants? Why would the folks who made the Who movie bother putting shirts on the Whos and not give them pants (it's true, you cannot be arrested for it but you might get a disorderly charge)? 'Cause the Who's ain't wearin' shirts! They're just covered in shirt-like fur! So the Who's are naked! No wonder the mayor's such a "busy" man!