Category: writing

Like an achene found in the virulent indeterminacy of our velarization, the weblog — the multisensory, multipolar, and in fact, multivalent concupicense of interdiscplinary conferencing — traditionalizes the sepulchural memes that once waxed serotinal. Can we express the cultivability of a tonomerous and germinal instrumentality of Hamiltonianism through the errant parvenue of the Internet?

My penguin says No.

Over at Modem Noise, Adrian is conducting a little contest to “Write a brief synopsis for a Truly Horribly Wretchedly Awful novel“.

So, without further ado, here is the synopsis of my novel…

Title: The Rippingly Adventurous Tale of Narwin, the Golden Rhinoceros, and His Pelican, Pip

Synopsis: Long ago in the green Trellian Valley, a Rhinoceros named Narwin lives with his family and a sickly old pelican named Pip, whom they occasionally hire as a mime at family outings. Like most young rhinoceroses, Narwin pays little heed to the goings-on of the world outside the Trellian Valley.

Flashback 2000 years: Trellian sits the leaders of two armies on the twin rocks of Aelia and places between them a chess board. Corthnoc, Supreme General of the Army of Hortenoc, ends the chess game abruptly when he counters his opponent’s Kolnikov Gambit with a pointy object to the throat. With this, General Artonius capitulates with a solid thud to the floor. Thenceforth, the Hortenoc maintains possession of the valley.

Two thousand years later, Narwin and Pip embark upon a journey to rescue the Stones of Aelia from almost certain destruction, which is to be determined by a lengthy series of judicial hearings with presentations by all stakeholders. In a sudden twist of irony, Pip is revealed as the true owner of Aelia. They contemplate this revelation in several intimate scenes in various hotel elevators.

Then, in another twist of fate, Pip explodes unexpectedly after eating too many squid-flavoured jellies. The whole mission now being moot, Narwin returns home by way of the Rocks of Aelia and one of them tips over, crushing him. With that, Trellian returns to the valley, bringing the joys of chess!

Dave Barry is often referred to as a humourist. I’ve wondered about this designation. How exactly does one qualify to become a humourist?

Is there some kind of professional training, like a degree program in practical humourology? Are you permitted to practice humour without proper education and training? Is there a professional society of humourism?

I can imagine a humourology professor saying, “After four years as an undergraduate, I earned my Bachelor of Humourous Arts. I majored in double-entendre and gaffes, but I also had a particular interest in Spoonerisms. When I graduated, I stayed on to get my PhD. They said I couldn’t do it, but when they laughed openly at me, that’s when I knew I had a gift.”

For those who don’t want to commit to years of study, there’s a six-month diploma program, but you’re only allowed to call yourself a humour technician.

Townie made an interesting suggestion recently. She said:

You know what I think would be incredibly cool?

I wish I could get the authors of all the blogs that I read daily and give them a subject to write about on a specific day. Maybe something as vague as “public transportation” or “stool”.

I love all of my daily reads for different reasons, and I think it would be cool to see how differently they approach the same subject.

Now that strikes me as a really excellent idea. And what better topic to start off with than “coincidence”? Can you imagine if everyone wrote about coincidence on the same day? Blog readers would be going, “Oooh. That’s a coincidence.” Until they read this, that is.

So let’s try it. In the next 24 hours, write something in your blog about coincidence.

And don’t tell me that you had the same idea. I won’t believe you.