tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76089083352642327372024-03-12T20:14:46.469-07:00The Froonga FilesThe official weblog of Bryan W. Fields, author of "Lunchbox and the Aliens" and "Froonga Planet!"Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-24651980610536166502013-04-02T12:21:00.000-07:002013-04-02T16:00:57.417-07:00You're a writer? I've always wanted to write. Can you help me?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfodEzScYauu6bJ4XukiVi3iAl3aqRkbCe4nS8EAVWfyacxV88C_3n7aB7EyowbeDZsJIUlNF3FwFbIGHfsQbhT3oX71f76RhZgkWObsMqizNqQWPf_AWYjwbYNU_coxrQBJ3gGT8m3_Q/s1600/typewriter+desktop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfodEzScYauu6bJ4XukiVi3iAl3aqRkbCe4nS8EAVWfyacxV88C_3n7aB7EyowbeDZsJIUlNF3FwFbIGHfsQbhT3oX71f76RhZgkWObsMqizNqQWPf_AWYjwbYNU_coxrQBJ3gGT8m3_Q/s320/typewriter+desktop.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Note to aspiring writers: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once in a while people ask me what I do for a living. When I say "I'm a writer," the next thing out of their mouths is "Oh. Have you ever been published?" When I say "yes," almost without exception, the next question is "I've written (<i>or am writing, or want to write</i>) a book. Can you help me get published?" Either that, or they look at me sideways and think I'm delusional.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's gotten to the point where sometimes, when people I meet ask what I do, I feel like telling them I'm a plumber--except then they'll want me to come and unstop their toilets or something--for free.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't be fooled! Writing is hard work. Writing for a living is even harder. Just because I work at home, sometimes in my bathrobe, doesn't mean I've got it easy. My commute is easy (20 feet from the bed to the office), lunch is easy (a short walk to the fridge), but that's where the easy stops. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The odds are something like this: one out of every 25,000 manuscripts submitted to publishing houses is actually published. Of those books published, less than half ever earn out the advances paid. And only a minuscule fraction of books that break even and/or earn royalties ever become best-sellers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm a freelance writer. I don't just write fiction (though it's my first love and I do it as often as possible)--I'm a write-for-hire guy who will do anything from a short article for a web page to ghostwriting books for people who have a great idea but can't write worth diddly. In this business you only eat what you kill, and that might mean a 60-hour week to do a job that you thought would only take twenty (goodbye expected profit margin). It means prospecting for new clients every day, even if you already have more projects than you think you can handle. It means laying awake at night wondering if next week will be as good as this week, or if it was a bad week, wondering if it's a harbinger of things to come. I'm motivated less by the creative muse than by the fact that I have a family to support, wondering if I can keep this up indefinitely or if I will have to return to being a corporate drone and only moonlight as a writer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Contrary to your romantic notions about writers, multimillionaire "overnight success" authors are a very small minority. There are probably more people who make a living as professional athletes than there are people who actually make a decent living from writing--and there are even less who survive writing only what they want to write, like novels or short stories. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of us are more like freelance musicians. Few musicians make a full-time living just playing jazz or symphonies. As a young man I tried to make a living in music--and found that the only way I could eat and pay the bills was to play dance jobs, community theatre shows, weddings, recordings, ballets, park bands, cheesy swing bands with deaf accordion players, arranging, and mostly teaching lessons to school band kids. And I had to learn to play more than one instrument. I had very little opportunity to ever get paid doing what I had trained myself to do--play jazz. Now, as a writer, I don't just write fiction--though that's my favorite thing to do and I've had a certain degree of success with it. I've had to broaden my skill set--ghostwriting, copywriting, editing, proofreading, and just about anything else involving written words that someone will pay me to do (including writing ludicrous poetry--see <a href="http://bardofthenuthouse.com/">http://bardofthenuthouse.com</a> ). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not always easy, but I'm learning and getting better at it. And the cool thing is, for the moment at least, I'm making a living at it. Despite the frequent struggles, it gives me enough satisfaction that I can resist the temptation to tell people I'm a plumber!</span>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-62203127915611973992013-01-11T20:27:00.003-08:002013-01-11T20:29:44.659-08:00More ordinary things that inexplicably creep me out<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brussels sprouts. I can't eat them. I've outgrown a lot of my childhood vegetable phobias--broccoli, cauliflower, spinach--and I've slowly become converted to asparagus as long as copious amounts of mayonnaise are involved. But Brussels sprouts? No-o-o-o!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My wife and some of our kids love Brussels sprouts. I have been watching them carefully for many years now...just to make sure my real family isn't stuffed in an alien cocoon somewhere..</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdl1qKgJelCyaDt-eatwwvJXXD1zDhuvoKlkwesU1C0_Ng9u4UlvP7YpyjNRRNZJ3GH0EoGS02HrFJpm3ryovSXZd3qd_-MslZBJkmn61Jsa0B5uMCLpuIxHK9VF1mO_BnMzKuNLa7l2U/s1600/Brussell+sprouts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdl1qKgJelCyaDt-eatwwvJXXD1zDhuvoKlkwesU1C0_Ng9u4UlvP7YpyjNRRNZJ3GH0EoGS02HrFJpm3ryovSXZd3qd_-MslZBJkmn61Jsa0B5uMCLpuIxHK9VF1mO_BnMzKuNLa7l2U/s200/Brussell+sprouts.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(the spoils of a day's battle with malevolent aliens)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not because Brussels sprouts make me gag (though they do), It's just that they look like...like little severed Martian heads. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't believe me?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take a look at the 1963 sci-fi B-movie classic <i>Day of the Triffids</i>, when evil Martians seeded Earth (via meteors, of course) with these things, which proceeded to kill every Earthling in sight with their nasty little tentacle-tongues that shot from their branches and dragged them into their fronds where they were slowly absorbed.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5V-6K4xy5pFiG6o2W7t7UxqrdmoTIckrTiLMU919qAhIFl8arWrYFjM4AcwcfjUqMgPF9K3UeiayHG4tqKbQf3qvolLTQ3JJ-iCWeBpitR2kEXswM-qgrApMakoS0ipbezdo5YYGZZ4M/s1600/Day+of+the+Triffids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5V-6K4xy5pFiG6o2W7t7UxqrdmoTIckrTiLMU919qAhIFl8arWrYFjM4AcwcfjUqMgPF9K3UeiayHG4tqKbQf3qvolLTQ3JJ-iCWeBpitR2kEXswM-qgrApMakoS0ipbezdo5YYGZZ4M/s320/Day+of+the+Triffids.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can't see the resemblance?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What about this picture?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoZJYsUNxGJqMaknxJMdkh7tvPvCRIITnMT-wpKOfjl4rMq_7z5UAprxU_r0L3tPl8BQ1v5f1kBZuZXxru4jVya2HPKEjol5UsWibAv3MwjzAS3EfBylfH0yXfx0zJgNFuFNmjQKtsqM/s1600/Brussels-Sprouts-Stalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoZJYsUNxGJqMaknxJMdkh7tvPvCRIITnMT-wpKOfjl4rMq_7z5UAprxU_r0L3tPl8BQ1v5f1kBZuZXxru4jVya2HPKEjol5UsWibAv3MwjzAS3EfBylfH0yXfx0zJgNFuFNmjQKtsqM/s400/Brussels-Sprouts-Stalk.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know it's dumb, but that movie scared the pickles out of me when I was a kid! </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pickles</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...okay, we'll save that one for another post.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Now how do I know when I stick a Martian head--er--Brussels sprout in my mouth that those tentacles aren't going to suddenly spring out and grab my uvula? I'm pretty sure that's why I gag when I attempt to eat them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In <i>Day of the Triffids, </i>every weapon imaginable was used on these things--guns, bombs, flame throwers, etc...but the only thing that would vanquish them was seawater. That's probably why when I was a kid growing up in Florida my mom never bought them...we lived close enough to the ocean that we were protected. But here in Texas, they're all over the place...and I just know they're coming for us...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-20715191348666246792012-07-31T19:52:00.002-07:002012-07-31T19:52:42.896-07:00Olympic Events...for the Rest of Us!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSfmozW8Bzpx0OTltthfJLutCfJTXoqFrr6oqv0Aqr6UKf0KCNT-8OErNrYHp3QNWw2JaIi3bUaOXA_OmOTw8ihtofw31X9PesVzxCuBXPPO7kFioVleh-rQl3UyhMecgKmHhi6q6xJ4/s1600/olympic-logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSfmozW8Bzpx0OTltthfJLutCfJTXoqFrr6oqv0Aqr6UKf0KCNT-8OErNrYHp3QNWw2JaIi3bUaOXA_OmOTw8ihtofw31X9PesVzxCuBXPPO7kFioVleh-rQl3UyhMecgKmHhi6q6xJ4/s200/olympic-logo.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The human drama of athletic competition…the
thrill of victory…the agony of the feet…face it, 99.999999999% of us will never
qualify for an Olympic event, even for events that we didn’t really think could
be defined as athletic competitions. I
mean really, <i>air rifles? </i>Is there a Red Ryder category? Has anyone accidentally shot someone’s eye
out?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If the International Olympic Committee can
sanction BB guns, they should also consider the following events that represent
extraordinary accomplishments by ordinary people:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
5000-meter Large Dog Walk<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This involves leading a boisterous, untrained
and completely slobbery dog weighing no less than 120 pounds through a
simulated suburban neighborhood.
Participants are required to be out of shape, wear uncomfortable shoes
(ingrown toenails are also a requirement), and attempt to prevent the dog from
romping through flower gardens or pooping on driveways. Cats and squirrels will be periodically
released throughout the course, which the contestant must attempt to prevent
the dog from chasing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Popcorn
Speed-Eating<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is a team sport, sort of. A couple will be seated in a simulated movie
theater and given a large $7 bucket of popcorn.
One contestant (the woman) will open by taking one handful and savoring
it during the opening credits of the movie, while the man must hork down the
entire contents before his partner finishes her first handful and then say “oh,
I thought you were done” as apologetically as possible. Style points will be awarded for slurping an
entire large soda without belching…which reminds me...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Did you know there is a </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I34uF3fJ_zM"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">World
Burping Championship</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">?
</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Supermom Hurdles<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In this event, the participant must attempt
to wake, feed, and clothe four obstinate children between 5 and 15 and get them
into a minivan and to their respective schools before the bell rings. This event will include finding lost socks,
getting gum out of hair, and convincing the youngest ones that they will
definitely be in an accident if their underwear is not clean. Also, the teenaged drama queen has been up
all night texting and Facebooking and has not done her homework that’s due
first period.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And what Olympics would be complete without </span><a href="http://www.parents.com/fun/parties/ideas/olympics-party-games-ideas/?rb=Y#page=3"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Synchronized Snack Toss</span></i></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3bBmWi317E"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Face
Pulling</span></i></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">,
</span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3ElRZfXuuM"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mud Hole Waterskiing</span></i></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-MMbkLTeIA&feature=related"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Belly Flops</span></i></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=fvwp&v=IQ0NcW7aO-0&NR=1"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Blob Jumping</span></i></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, and </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eanWnL3FtM"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rock,
Paper, Scissors</span></i></a><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">(which has an
organized league—the </span><a href="http://www.usarps.com/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">USARPS</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">)?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s time for us ordinary folks to start
lobbying!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-89504775662010230882012-07-23T20:39:00.001-07:002012-07-23T20:54:07.322-07:00A Note of Warning<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After watching Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones on DVD, I found myself wondering </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">about the movie's premise--that a mysterious alien race cloned a Polynesian fullback forty </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">zillion times and created a huge intergalactic football league</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. The details are sketchy as I had O.D'd on popcorn at that point and was </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">no longer coherent, but it got me thinking about why we haven't heard much lately from the scientific community on the matter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The debate over cloning began in earnest during the 1980's. Specifically, it had to do with</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfRL1DIOGVwq5zEZFlMDDZWc486Z2kyAaSOFeTUkSwaUXAbtwQqvkfv9-QFbuueOoYeqj90FRBO1xWdFO6WLCpfSayGYJl6DnUFBe7a0anbatABrz43XjGOm6QHaLmMdIQKeb4N6BAsk/s1600/Tom+Selleck+and+his+moustache.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfRL1DIOGVwq5zEZFlMDDZWc486Z2kyAaSOFeTUkSwaUXAbtwQqvkfv9-QFbuueOoYeqj90FRBO1xWdFO6WLCpfSayGYJl6DnUFBe7a0anbatABrz43XjGOm6QHaLmMdIQKeb4N6BAsk/s200/Tom+Selleck+and+his+moustache.jpg" width="148px" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Magnum, P.I. Though scientists didn't actually succeed in cloning Tom Selleck, it appears that they did succeed in cloning his moustache, which began appearing on college students, football players, and aspiring game show hosts nationwide. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's a reason you haven't heard more about it. Cloning technology has long since fallen into the wrong hands. Shadowy terrorist groups have already harnessed the ability to use cloning to disrupt our communications and create fear and confusion. An army of clones has been surreptitiously </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">deployed throughout the country. While it's true that the terrorists have used Mortimer Snerd's DNA, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">this in no way diminishes the threat. In fact, they want it that way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes. Be afraid. Be very afraid. <i>They've infiltrated the customer service departments at the telecom and utility companies</i>. The fiends have calculated that we'll all be gibbering idiots by the end of the year. Yup, yup, yaw.</span></div>
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</div>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-31580000774981678692012-07-06T16:15:00.002-07:002012-07-06T16:48:51.060-07:00The Blunder Years<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">(<i>This column of mine was originally published in 2005 by Absolutewrite.com</i>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I believe that most authors have had a pivotal moment in their lives when it became clear there was no other choice than to be a writer.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">My moment came in seventh grade, September 1969. Renate Allen. She didn’t spell it “Renee,” or “René,” it was “Renate” with a silent <i>t</i>. I believe it stood for “tall.” More correctly, it meant I was <i>short</i>, like most other seventh grade boys.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I knew her from Sunday school and our mothers were good friends. I both loved and hated Sundays—I never knew what to say or what to do with my hands—but I got to sit across the room from her and try to pretend I wasn’t gawking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Sixth grade had not been a problem, but over the summer something happened. Her cooties fell off. She became tall and beautiful, somehow bypassing the normal seventh-grade awkwardness. Suddenly the lights came on. Suddenly everything was crystal clear. Suddenly I was a complete bonehead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I went to great lengths to make her aware of me—I figured out her whole schedule by taking alternate routes between every one of my classes until I was able to pass her in the halls five or six times per day. If she said “hi,” I was floating on air for the whole day, filled with hope. If she didn’t notice me, I just knew she hated my guts, and was probably telling her friends what a total <i>dork</i> I was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> If she happened to be talking to a guy, I was, of course, consumed with jealous rage. I made a voodoo doll collection representing every guy in the school who was taller than me and/or had muscles and/or a personality.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Renate Allen filled my life with purpose. What that purpose was, I was not sure, except that more than anything I wanted to be tall enough to kiss her. But what could I do? I was not a jock; I was a nerdy crew-cut third cornet player who wore white socks with green pinstriped high-water flares. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I decided that the pen was mightier than the mouth. I would write her…a NOTE. Notes could be any length, actually—some would argue that they actually were “letters” if they exceeded more than one page—but the true definition of “note” was in the way you folded it. Girls usually folded notes into rectangles with wrap-around points that tucked into each other. That was way too sissy—not to mention complex—for a guy. We preferred the “triangular paper football” fold, which was less conspicuous because all of us carried paper footballs around for those tabletop matches during homeroom and lunch. No one would have guessed that it contained the summation of my desires, except that it was about an inch and a half thicker than the ordinary football. I mentally rehearsed my delivery—pull it from left jacket pocket, flash smug James Bond smile, slide it into her notebook as I passed. She would read it and be swept off of her feet by my brilliant, witty prose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> It had to be a masterpiece—this was, after all, Renate Allen, sans cooties, the most beautiful creature in the seventh grade. It couldn’t be ordinary, couldn’t be “hi, I like you.” It had to have the same impact on her that her mere existence had had on me. But it couldn’t be too mushy—it had to be cool, it had to be funny, it had to be the greatest thing she’d ever read in her life. I made up jokes, I wrote silly poems, and I even drew cartoons. She had to know that underneath that crew cut was a mind for which she could and should love me, and maybe she would be patient enough for my body to catch up in a few years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In the corner by my bed I kept a tall plastic kitchen wastebasket. By April it was overflowing with wadded-up pieces of notebook paper. Every day I carried a new note, painstakingly scrawled in a marathon of creativity the night before, and every day I chickened out. I’d come home disgusted, read the note I’d written, decide it was stupid, crumple it up one page at a time (I averaged about nine pages per note), throw it in the corner, and start over, racking my brain for the magic words that would make her love me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I chickened out one hundred sixty-three times that year. The pile in the corner grew until my bed disappeared and Mom quarantined my room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Renate never received a single note from me (although I did finally get to kiss her at a spin-the-bottle party in ninth grade), but through those nightly exercises I eventually became a writer, which above all other endeavors requires the persistence of Don Quixote. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Twenty-something years later, I met Lesli. Due to logistical difficulties, a large part of our courtship was conducted via the U.S. Postal Service. Suddenly I was an infatuated seventh-grader again, curled up every night on the floor next to my bed with a spiral notebook and colored pens. Whatever came into my head at the moment seemed like a wonderful thing to share with her, and the more ridiculous, the better. I found myself recycling much of the drivel I had trashed in my youth. She fell for it and married me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thank you, Renate, wherever you are.<br /><a href="http://www.bryanwfields.com/columns.htm" style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></a></span></div>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-45234798948944458072012-06-02T21:51:00.000-07:002012-06-03T09:12:30.565-07:00Random Silliness: My first Renaissance fair<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My daughter, after scrimping and saving for a year, recently treated her best friend and me to a day at the Scarborough Renaissance fair near Waxahachie, TX. Every weekend from April through the end of May, a pastoral stretch of woods and grasslands in this agrarian/manufacturing community an hour south of Dallas is transformed into a mecca for medieval aficionados, artisans, bagpipers and assorted minstrels, along with food, frivolity, and the <i>biggest collection of screwballs</i> I've seen since my one and only <em>Star Trek</em> convention twenty years ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Forget historical accuracy--you'll see representations of everything from the 13th to the 18th century as well as fantasy characters, along with some really weird stuff.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjodVyO3l3uzVvjdZop_t8yc-FlHx_CPdEqzlLBkZpFV8qvgpK41WYra7wLv5De_MYQGq0mBHtnL795fFmBY6vA-jYvnD4kM-V0wicwfZvNZHbD3ewo4Krvr7vWeXTEXa1AtWB4lDwS6fQ/s1600/DSCF2990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjodVyO3l3uzVvjdZop_t8yc-FlHx_CPdEqzlLBkZpFV8qvgpK41WYra7wLv5De_MYQGq0mBHtnL795fFmBY6vA-jYvnD4kM-V0wicwfZvNZHbD3ewo4Krvr7vWeXTEXa1AtWB4lDwS6fQ/s320/DSCF2990.JPG" width="320px" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Costumes ranged from a very authentic Henry VIII and Ann Boleyn (complete with her original head) to budget-conscious home-made creations that may or may not resemble 16th-century garb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Black T-shirts are the perfect accessory for kilts.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdMksKgxNkqUNDCjv3euNbfKUc9SqXyRx_JBeY1ZFEUkbRmuSqoUmNemsWMRbSeBbzOlzwOr8g3h1NS9EYz596tLbnWnEbpC2qxc9ZSRjz5dUFbbz5S0Hb70CWXOQMmW9MRhLjEXsg9c/s1600/DSCF2999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdMksKgxNkqUNDCjv3euNbfKUc9SqXyRx_JBeY1ZFEUkbRmuSqoUmNemsWMRbSeBbzOlzwOr8g3h1NS9EYz596tLbnWnEbpC2qxc9ZSRjz5dUFbbz5S0Hb70CWXOQMmW9MRhLjEXsg9c/s320/DSCF2999.JPG" width="240px" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In fact, I was amazed at the number of burly, hairy-chested biker types I saw wearing kilts. Apparently it's the manly thing to do at such events. Thankfully there were no strong breezes that day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This guy worked at a food vendor called "The King's Nuts."</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadmyDPVBwfd4sx0ail0OKEwLudUWOd3_4faQv5sdqcAasDFYrOYRuVaJA1ZakqG_XL8OmxcYejtwZJ2ca8zpXClRE9RlfLjWkYl4uJhMC8E3DQz6XQFBU3y7r5ldIJJtZ2gjbn173qlI/s1600/DSCF3036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadmyDPVBwfd4sx0ail0OKEwLudUWOd3_4faQv5sdqcAasDFYrOYRuVaJA1ZakqG_XL8OmxcYejtwZJ2ca8zpXClRE9RlfLjWkYl4uJhMC8E3DQz6XQFBU3y7r5ldIJJtZ2gjbn173qlI/s320/DSCF3036.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After speaking with him for a few minutes I was convinced the name did not refer to the food.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nearly all of the shopkeepers spoke with faux British accents. You ain't heard Cockney 'til it's spoken with a Texas twang.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's why I found this elven munitions dealer so refreshing--he used a fake <i>Russian</i> accent instead.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTojpOUJkahsNiqzBZ_zxrEGfOF3duCv6SNknM5vbV1IFBko6Do13BR2fh05QvfL15TLAcT_Wh2WDHv5yrux30Vk-AxtkmaHFieVxmGyNi1MnoANEV5wJikx_QHUhhM9sW6O9uswSjH0s/s1600/DSCF2985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTojpOUJkahsNiqzBZ_zxrEGfOF3duCv6SNknM5vbV1IFBko6Do13BR2fh05QvfL15TLAcT_Wh2WDHv5yrux30Vk-AxtkmaHFieVxmGyNi1MnoANEV5wJikx_QHUhhM9sW6O9uswSjH0s/s320/DSCF2985.JPG" width="240px" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never believed in gnomes until I saw this character. Most intriguing is the hat on top of his hat--kinda like the Harry Potter Sorting Hat playing cowboy. Well, heck, it's Texas, ain't it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have no clue what Dr. Frankenstein has to do with medieval/renaissance culture--nor what he's doing with that ray gun. But that wasn't half as weird as this:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPej8FdR7ZOB5JAdairC1XdM-PxuUHZi_tBFh1hWqYIUx9AtwVN67d3IVI_wbfPHZuh7Aw444Qh4Gtk6DJNU6oWeeLMFd2FWXICeT5yAvi9lw4rIGEcMofRxHMv4AsWuebT1GhpddbXz0/s1600/DSCF3060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPej8FdR7ZOB5JAdairC1XdM-PxuUHZi_tBFh1hWqYIUx9AtwVN67d3IVI_wbfPHZuh7Aw444Qh4Gtk6DJNU6oWeeLMFd2FWXICeT5yAvi9lw4rIGEcMofRxHMv4AsWuebT1GhpddbXz0/s320/DSCF3060.JPG" width="240px" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The front view was even scarier, which, mercifully, I didn't get a picture of. The real frightening thing is that she's pushing a baby stroller...which means they're allowed to breed!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The highlight of the day was when the sheriff and his assistant shouted for everyone to clear the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was followed by the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4NkS_RsHIY" target="_blank">most unusual parade</a> I've ever witnessed.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRYNm-506Ezw1qlmLhShQZW7MUqJzFG46iijqcF2xJyD8w5H18rNRd86bq3OPHpm4wwcM6zI5BDdjqy-_oXeRUCKh0-ng_9Ml6JtFcmiJdWkeJaoHo0vto8CEpcjDja03Mf284NGBvOc/s1600/DSCF3013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRYNm-506Ezw1qlmLhShQZW7MUqJzFG46iijqcF2xJyD8w5H18rNRd86bq3OPHpm4wwcM6zI5BDdjqy-_oXeRUCKh0-ng_9Ml6JtFcmiJdWkeJaoHo0vto8CEpcjDja03Mf284NGBvOc/s320/DSCF3013.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVU8Rcur7O1y-LlIcMcqUbKLm_ENB820DnEe7dMUVf5CQEv26dkBfRizqEXscaBeJnac-vfTZjJm2BmxJQ_i7rF9oMBHfQN50JAfWSoX6sELqXz8-vWEijaip8qCCnqbfq07J1c8aGskQ/s1600/DSCF3023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVU8Rcur7O1y-LlIcMcqUbKLm_ENB820DnEe7dMUVf5CQEv26dkBfRizqEXscaBeJnac-vfTZjJm2BmxJQ_i7rF9oMBHfQN50JAfWSoX6sELqXz8-vWEijaip8qCCnqbfq07J1c8aGskQ/s400/DSCF3023.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nothing says "Renaissance" like a 200-lb middle-aged belly dancer...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...not to mention your standard authentic Renaissance muffin-top tattooed devil-troll thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A kid on a leash...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Followed by another kid on a leash (not a bad idea, I might add):</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Parade watching always makes me hungry. What authentic Renaissance repast would be complete without a $5 slice of ye old slippery cheese pizza? Omnomnom...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHb6dFSBerd9Iu5NZ1SbyMgr9ejTJxgMalhcUmwL42IjDkU3jUxC5BqWVWU0m7aFjRBMBlwHJNwqjFr-LshZGT21jUebHf3aXzqIomRf1G1sR0Lzup7dPOGIbvB_teLelSfe6wY6-_Ho/s1600/DSCF3038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHb6dFSBerd9Iu5NZ1SbyMgr9ejTJxgMalhcUmwL42IjDkU3jUxC5BqWVWU0m7aFjRBMBlwHJNwqjFr-LshZGT21jUebHf3aXzqIomRf1G1sR0Lzup7dPOGIbvB_teLelSfe6wY6-_Ho/s320/DSCF3038.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Signs, signs, everywhere a sign...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9XkE0VZJ5mBpMN8n137z2zddmpZc29ckmM-rJ9LhS5UTZ4Vxs-GyS1O9UZ9OsAwc1Lg8JDEVsXm7Ltcvmp0_FsEZ1-nHtR54Tz38bpchuuolJh18py9XnI8fvupDz9Jxkq7nsaI0qGo/s1600/DSCF2996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9XkE0VZJ5mBpMN8n137z2zddmpZc29ckmM-rJ9LhS5UTZ4Vxs-GyS1O9UZ9OsAwc1Lg8JDEVsXm7Ltcvmp0_FsEZ1-nHtR54Tz38bpchuuolJh18py9XnI8fvupDz9Jxkq7nsaI0qGo/s640/DSCF2996.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Did I just see a Klingon?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1MpGBuFgP6ggwOP67-lWAhxTowsygG8hTBg7h-_zPhF5PTtFAyV1R7PbtCLgibdqz03IHs9tCQsHVy6SXKtmnx9DjsMWjHmLGYFc0EjHYJYz14uIWKKlN5tclRdkoh-a9a2Kg-ljaTr0/s1600/DSCF3048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1MpGBuFgP6ggwOP67-lWAhxTowsygG8hTBg7h-_zPhF5PTtFAyV1R7PbtCLgibdqz03IHs9tCQsHVy6SXKtmnx9DjsMWjHmLGYFc0EjHYJYz14uIWKKlN5tclRdkoh-a9a2Kg-ljaTr0/s320/DSCF3048.JPG" width="240px" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The inebriated fellow above was apparently hired by a rival vendor to stand in front of this shop and shout bizarre things at passers-by--a sort of professional village idiot. He's probably a congressman on weekdays.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think this may have been a real nun...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...but I'm not so sure about this guy! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nothing quite like funky music performed with bagpipes and replicated medieval military drums. They were rockin'out, believe me!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIFt-_QMNycypg6b4dfWsUp9g06UpmNMz6uiFcl1CbZWEbSBcU-mWx96ERoOC7TsIkXRBN5JB7n_QrURCcve9SeKxaIYzf4TzWK5nYVdvQdZi2VAsbakn1CIISQ_zQdiF3JiYiAnOiJI/s1600/DSCF3001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIFt-_QMNycypg6b4dfWsUp9g06UpmNMz6uiFcl1CbZWEbSBcU-mWx96ERoOC7TsIkXRBN5JB7n_QrURCcve9SeKxaIYzf4TzWK5nYVdvQdZi2VAsbakn1CIISQ_zQdiF3JiYiAnOiJI/s320/DSCF3001.JPG" width="240px" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All in all, it was a fun outing--a chance for some father-daughter bonding on a beautiful spring day in Texas (we don't get many of those--it goes quickly from 65 degrees in April to 95 in May), but I have to admit I'm not as young as I used to be and I had to stop and rest!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In October the Scarborough fairgrounds will be transformed into one of the largest Halloween carnivals in the state, complete with haunted houses and likely a lot of the same kooks from the Renaissance fair. Too bad I already have plans...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-10232083383409618722012-05-09T00:25:00.000-07:002012-05-09T10:41:48.766-07:00Ordinary things that inexplicably creep me out...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They're out there...things that trigger a subconscious emotional response for no discernible reason. Maybe something from my childhood or a movie I saw once...but I am <i>really creeped out</i> by clay chimney stoves:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYofWcMjeC2-Zg0MyvtSHnNiYfDl0eeCla4zzgL5p5xG2G_NrmScfaecnoY49SaloetOmN2WRXAjVqs-DwfwVygAruxbOhpf-qrPDDVTGqlap_5zfcKYdt1uJhknSBTI_kPLuUKSM9tQ/s1600/Creepy+clay+stove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYofWcMjeC2-Zg0MyvtSHnNiYfDl0eeCla4zzgL5p5xG2G_NrmScfaecnoY49SaloetOmN2WRXAjVqs-DwfwVygAruxbOhpf-qrPDDVTGqlap_5zfcKYdt1uJhknSBTI_kPLuUKSM9tQ/s320/Creepy+clay+stove.jpg" width="288px" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why, I can't really say...but I find them extremely creepy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't ever want one of these things on my back porch. It looks like it might eat me, or worse yet, sing weird evil songs in the middle of the night and curse my wife's vegetable garden. A regular old barbecue grill is fine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not a horror writer like Stephen King--I have never been bothered by fears of 1958 Pontiacs coming to life and committing random acts of roadkill--although I do remember as a child having a nightmare about the water heater coming to life and chasing me over a mountain. In spite of that I have never since been afraid of water heaters, not even when ours sprung a leak a couple of months ago and flooded my office (which is also our bedroom closet). But don't let me near one of those clay stoves! When they're on display in front of our local grocery store, I take the long way around to get to the door. I don't want them to see me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I swear I am not crazy. I'm willing to bet many of you have seriously silly phobias that you can't explain. I'd love to hear about them!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-14388225856957785482012-04-19T10:06:00.003-07:002012-05-06T22:06:41.276-07:00Flopsy, 2002-2012<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now that we've celebrated world Bunny Day and Easter, it's only fitting to note that the bunny era has ended at our house. Flopsy, the last of our five rabbits, passed away yesterday. She was my youngest daughter's first pet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We can't be sad--ten years is a ridiculously long life for a Mini-Rex rabbit (average lifespan about six years), but it closes a chapter in my daughter's childhood. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Flopsy didn't do any fancy tricks or have any particularly fascinating personality traits--she was just an ordinary rabbit with incredibly soft fur and an overly round tummy. Though recently thinned by age and illness, in her prime she looked more like a fuzzy basketball. Eating seemed to be her primary purpose in life, and even in her old age she could make short work of a large carrot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I was my daughter's age (16) when I lost my first pet, a basset hound named Herbie. He'd been with us since I was five, and I grieved for a long time. Nearly forty years later I still dream about him--sometimes in my dreams he can talk, and he tells me how much he misses me. And though his passing marked the end of my childhood, he was my inspiration, years later, for my <em>Lunchbox</em> books. A part of me will always be eleven years old, tromping through the neighborhood with Herbie in search of adventure. He was just an ordinary basset hound, but to me he was Rin-tin-tin. He was my sentry dog when I played army; he was my rescue dog when I stepped through a snowdrift and got stuck in a muddy ditch (actually, he just kept walking and left me there to unstick myself), and he was always there to talk to. And I wrote stories--dozens of short stories--about Herbie, in which he was a world traveler, a war hero, or a goofy foil for my brother's pet mouse, who was always the "straight man" in my stories. In essence, Herbie helped me to become a writer--because as writers we have to apply our imaginations to ordinary things and make them extraordinary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Flopsy was no less of an inspiration to my daughter, who also wrote stories about the noble warrior-princess of the bunny kingdom (she'd read all of the <em>Redwall</em> books before her tenth birthday) who vanquished evil weasels and made the world safe for all harmless woodland creatures. And she helped my daughter become the gentle, imaginative young woman she is today--one who cares deeply for all things soft and furry (even the stupid cat) and has an affinity with nearly every animal she meets, be it a bunny, a dog, a horse, a llama, or a mouse.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1UWPh0P9X02eND7wDkV98M3OHeM-7Mp8LpWSePF8iVWUZOHCYFBSn_zsSDZou5DUJBxvcv4KmX8j87hZM7SmAj9ZKojd0UsCcJKP53CoUYwjkZGPnkn8_DRrk1wYXE_pLhHMEZvd2pQ/s1600/Margo+&+Flopsy+Mopsy+Brynna+Rosy+Muffin+Stuffin+Fields.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" qda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1UWPh0P9X02eND7wDkV98M3OHeM-7Mp8LpWSePF8iVWUZOHCYFBSn_zsSDZou5DUJBxvcv4KmX8j87hZM7SmAj9ZKojd0UsCcJKP53CoUYwjkZGPnkn8_DRrk1wYXE_pLhHMEZvd2pQ/s320/Margo+&+Flopsy+Mopsy+Brynna+Rosy+Muffin+Stuffin+Fields.JPG" width="320px" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank you Flopsy for ten years of nose-wiggling, carrot-munching, hippity-hopping entertainment. Thank you for helping to build my daughter. And since I'm pretty certain all bunnies, like all dogs, go to heaven, say hello to Herbie for me.</span></div>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-15737249500197647242012-04-02T12:16:00.002-07:002012-04-02T18:07:43.570-07:00Happy Bunny Day!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwROlYB0PlpiIoASF3_6g43BK2i0b3ilCuZmEga6KkXTE-q3idXZ1MnhAMpZm588Ocnd4aeKmyKT37UIJAjn3LaK03GBWy1ipCIQamf1toMtIfPC7DQ70G_YPck6wqWOChwz3qozjxbQ/s1600/lalalalalalalaaa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwROlYB0PlpiIoASF3_6g43BK2i0b3ilCuZmEga6KkXTE-q3idXZ1MnhAMpZm588Ocnd4aeKmyKT37UIJAjn3LaK03GBWy1ipCIQamf1toMtIfPC7DQ70G_YPck6wqWOChwz3qozjxbQ/s320/lalalalalalalaaa.JPG" width="216" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">According to the all-knowing Internet, today is World Bunny Day (not to be confused with International Rabbit Day on September 25). This is the day that bunny lovers around the world post pictures of their pets on Facebook and gush about how wonderful they are.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the risk of having my man card revoked, I have to admit that I really like bunnies. I like them a lot better than our stupid cat, that's for sure (but not as much as I like basset hounds).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's something very calming about rabbits. They're soft, sometimes cuddly (we've had a few that would scratch you to pieces if you got too friendly), quiet, and relatively clean (meaning if you don't keep them in the house, you don't have to clean up bunny beans). We've had a few that were even affectionate and somewhat playful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few years ago I published a column in <i>Byline Magazine</i> about the perils of living with a stubborn rabbit who reminded me of my dad. Click <a href="http://froongafiles.blogspot.com/p/fighter-pilots-rabbits-and-writers.html" target="_blank">here</a> to read it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And in honor of World Bunny Day, here are some of the furry friends that have graced our home over the years:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is my nemesis (see above linked article) Thumper, feeling very grumpy with his new bunny leash/harness. He seems to be saying "I feel so stupid."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dusty was more like a puppy than a bunny. He loved being cuddled, would follow us around the house, and was absolutely crazy about my wife; he once leaped from my arms into hers as she passed by.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all loved Dusty. As you can see, he was patient...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and curious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dusty's sisters, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Flopsy and Kiara. Though our other bunnies have all gone to that great carrot patch in the sky, Flopsy (on the left) is still with us after ten years. Considering that the average lifespan of a Mini-Rex rabbit is six or seven years, Flopsy is a bunny Methuselah.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thumper took it upon himself to guard our Christmas tree...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...while Dusty <i>really</i> got into the spirit of the holiday.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1EcOL6FUDSDj6Gk-2cNBy0pxvttRnT497aUl717BTrrQcRcC6ZIWwPJg8DPvBGDTmsg7RrmlNUlxPZl9zaUCGsJQq0hSaIB-Y-tzBs1ehJHcM8Txku0oOyY5lW03fi3nMiLKoxyNhqE/s1600/Stinky+Bunny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1EcOL6FUDSDj6Gk-2cNBy0pxvttRnT497aUl717BTrrQcRcC6ZIWwPJg8DPvBGDTmsg7RrmlNUlxPZl9zaUCGsJQq0hSaIB-Y-tzBs1ehJHcM8Txku0oOyY5lW03fi3nMiLKoxyNhqE/s320/Stinky+Bunny.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This French Lop was found running loose in the park by some friends who gave her to us because they knew we were "rabbit people." They said she was sweet and house-trained. She was neither. The kids named her Sweetie Pie, but we soon changed it to "Stinky Bunny." Not only was she <i>not</i> litter-trained, when we put kitty litter in a box for her to use, she ate the box and left her doots wherever she pleased. Though she was a beautiful bunny, she spent most of her life outside in the hutch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have a happy Bunny Day!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WyOWf374kxPktOKgM1FBQJoKCuUxKF_vfqNzWjcJUn2jpicBT6nayiwcNkNS6MsAixupGtZK3zTRoLkWRwUAEMSxseTaeD8agXnDaktdVl8IY6hnK57cTu97hK_ZLYedA1nBG14ADUE/s1600/2346866684_e29c24f740_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WyOWf374kxPktOKgM1FBQJoKCuUxKF_vfqNzWjcJUn2jpicBT6nayiwcNkNS6MsAixupGtZK3zTRoLkWRwUAEMSxseTaeD8agXnDaktdVl8IY6hnK57cTu97hK_ZLYedA1nBG14ADUE/s320/2346866684_e29c24f740_b.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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</div>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-10935753360696632272012-03-23T21:46:00.001-07:002013-01-11T19:46:18.766-08:00March Madness, alien style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In honor of March Madness, I thought I'd share info about another popular contact sport--well, popular in other parts of the galaxy, anyway. To learn about one of the greatest matches ever, read <i>Froonga Planet</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i>Excerpts from </i>The Encyclopedia of Everything Else: <i>Lob-lock</i></span></h4>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyQ1quD2byiqYjWTpdlD6H8GOMdNKBnzw7GJz9GgiR9Rfy8rCNkyIHfi3EqkCjWidifAumant_BaStxsIqWS5MiAT6y4pq3kMgArLEpZcWQu4Mhwk76fe2OssJIdWqZIAw24SCVfbunM/s1600/lob-lock.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyQ1quD2byiqYjWTpdlD6H8GOMdNKBnzw7GJz9GgiR9Rfy8rCNkyIHfi3EqkCjWidifAumant_BaStxsIqWS5MiAT6y4pq3kMgArLEpZcWQu4Mhwk76fe2OssJIdWqZIAw24SCVfbunM/s320/lob-lock.jpeg" width="280" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lob-lock is a popular interplanetary sport with ancient origins. It is believed to have evolved from the practice of prehistoric male Scwozzworts, who asserted their dominance by throwing large rocks and beating the <i>gruzbunkles</i> out of their rivals with heavy sticks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Early lob-lock courts have been discovered in the ancient province of Snoofoo on the Scwozzwort homeworld, and archaeological evidence suggests that part of the game involved throwing one's opponent off of a high tower (after knocking him senseless) while shouting vicious insults.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Some interplanetary scholars doubt the authenticity of these findings, but lob-lock has certainly become more civilized in these modern times, and technology has been incorporated into every facet of the game. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lob-lock has been called "the culmination of intergalactic civilization" and has even been used to settle territorial disputes in some sectors, eliminating the need for messy wars. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lob-lock involves the use of the following items:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. The <i>bzzt</i>-ball--originally believed to have just been a large round rock, the modern <i>bzzt-</i>ball has a series of spiny energy barbs protruding all around; it is used to deliver an immobilizing charge to one's opponent; the ball is<i> lobbed</i>, and the opponent is <i>locked</i>. It is capable of self-propulsion and re-calibration, as well as random targeting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2. The <i>whomp-sting</i> stick: this is a long metal rod with a heavy weight at one end and a stinging energy barb at the other, which delivers an immobilizing charge similar in strength to that of the <i>bzzt</i>-ball.. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3. Thruster belts--modern lob-lock is played in zero gravity, and players must wear these devices to maneuver around the court.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4. The goal units consist of floating platforms that remain in a fixed position at opposite ends of the court. Each goal has an insult pad; players who have succeeded in stunning their opponents must fly to the platform, place a tentacle (or claw, or pseudopod, or whatever) on the pad and shout the most creative insult possible. Deluxe goals are equipped with translator boxes that interpret insults during interplanetary matches.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Interplanetary Lob-lock League Rules:</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The game can be played one-on-one or in teams of two; certain variances to this rule may exist on some worlds (see <i>Hoofonoggle Rules</i>).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lob-lock courts: These may vary in size, and can be anything from a large public anti-gravity arena to a cargo hold on a space ship, provided there is sufficient room to maneuver.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The game begins with an insult. Each side will insult the other, and the goal computer will score each one. The player or team with the winning insult begins on offense.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The offensive player will hurl the <i>bzzt</i>-ball at his rival in an attempt to stun him. If he is successful, he must then violently fling the rigid opponent against the wall, and then speed to the opposing goal, touch the pad, and shout an insult before the stunned opponent recovers. The computer will automatically rate the quality of the insult and announce a point total.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If an offensive player throws the <i>bzzt</i>-ball and misses, the ball will then re-calibrate and target the thrower, who must either dodge or swat it away with the heavy end of the whomp-sting stick. He may also use the energy barb to attempt to stun his opponent. If an offensive player is stunned by a returning <i>bzzt</i>-ball, the opponent may then fling him against the wall and attempt to score insult points.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There is a brief intermission halfway through the game to allow for rest, during which time gravity is re-engaged so that body fluids and/or parts can be more easily cleared from the court.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The game normally ends at the expiration of regulation time (this can vary from planet to planet--some matches have been known to last for days). The highest point total wins, except in cases where all players become completely incapacitated--this is resolved by awarding the victory to the team or player with the least number of life-threatening injuries.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Hoofonoggle Rules</i>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The standard rules have been ratified by all participating worlds within the Interplanetary Lob-Lock League with one exception: Games played on the Hoofonoggle home world have two additional rules:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. The winners get to eat the losers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2. Hoofonoggles cheat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Illustration by Kevan J. Atteberry in </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Froonga Planet </i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(2008 Henry Holt and Company)</span>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-8374118015005372652012-03-21T22:01:00.001-07:002012-03-21T22:27:18.979-07:00Freewriting exercises to kill writer's block<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI-qKqbO79rEWqcwlnbqHDGbD4HYmXE4curHBlSWP5kWOLm1qorsrBbA8nFFyN7Tj7Xr2U9MpL6UwhH51lFpeYVZl3bIwdE5XPjm-npYRDgAKoBLiKgHSZSej1VcPuJwBfgRwazEMpuo/s1600/Vintage_Writer_with_Writers_Block_100312-033431-266042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI-qKqbO79rEWqcwlnbqHDGbD4HYmXE4curHBlSWP5kWOLm1qorsrBbA8nFFyN7Tj7Xr2U9MpL6UwhH51lFpeYVZl3bIwdE5XPjm-npYRDgAKoBLiKgHSZSej1VcPuJwBfgRwazEMpuo/s200/Vintage_Writer_with_Writers_Block_100312-033431-266042.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Writer's block is the scourge of writing success. Some professionals recommend "freewriting" when this happens--just start writing random stuff until an idea pops out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Occasionally when I find myself blocked, I play a game with my kids. I ask for a word or phrase, and then I have two minutes to crank out as much stuff as possible from that word or phrase. Here are some of my more noble efforts--not Newbery award winners by any means, but there's potential!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Word cue: <i>The chimps danced </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The chimps danced along the tops of the trees. All the bananas in the world could not have
made them any happier than at this moment.
Oogoo had won the challenge, and Geenah would no longer be their
leader. Now everyone would have a chance
at the juiciest termites, not just the elders.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Geenah slumped on the forest floor. How could he have lost? And what was this<i> rock, paper, scissors </i>thing,
anyway?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Word cue: <i>The trumpet section fell over </i>(this is from my youngest son, who is a band geek like me)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The trumpet section fell over during the halftime show. At least they had fallen over backwards
instead of face-first, which would have smashed their horns and driven their
mouthpieces through their teeth and into their brains. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The audience applauded, believing this was scripted, because
they did it with such precision. But no
sound came from their instruments as they lay on the grass, with spit leaking
onto their faces from the upturned trumpets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Next, a hole opened in the middle of the field beneath the
tuba players, and quickly closed up, leaving only the fiberglass bells of their
instruments in a neat row across the fifty-yard line, resembling the
ventilation tubes you might see on old navy ships.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Now the crowd began to worry. <i>What if only the clarinets are left</i>?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Word cue: <i>amok</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Amok, amok, amok, amokamokamokamokamok.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Playing Godzilla was a lot more fun than he’d ever
dreamed. The people who ran screaming to
avoid the crushing feet of the giant hamster likely disagreed with him. But what did they expect? Dr. Noongalee’s Instant Growth formula didn’t
say anything on the label about also growing brains and a sense of
responsibility. Little did Mr. Fuzzball
suspect, however, just how difficult the next few days would be. In fact, he would probably live to regret
making a snack out of the poor doctor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is a great game to get the creative gears turning--remember, there's a time limit--two minutes--and once you've typed it, move on to the next one. The two-minute limit gives you no time to be judgmental about your work--not to mention it helps you learn to type fast! Later you can go over them and see if you have any great story ideas in there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It works for me, to one degree or another--doesn't always help with the story I'm currently working on, but gives me fodder for future stories and helps me learn to be creative on demand. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I keep all of these nuggets on file, no matter how stupid they may be. I think the giant hamster story has some potential, and I've since sketched a few chapters from this intro. </span><br />
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<i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, my fellow writers--what do YOU do when you're blocked?</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'd love to hear your ideas!</span></div>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-13312811263217295062012-03-19T20:15:00.002-07:002012-03-19T20:18:00.379-07:00Random Silliness: Why we don't have symmetrical faces<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcxO4nAQ_-9GMoxgDhykxvXgXqFKJWWRhJh9mWKtzI0eRMREaHipoLvMpObdMVgl8_SFWV_kODp0bqZ5U88G__Q5Yk8XEZ4jVcKRkCh7ka98P8GoglMiOvwaQcPoB6sHBuNXZz5ANaKg/s1600/Bryan+headshot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcxO4nAQ_-9GMoxgDhykxvXgXqFKJWWRhJh9mWKtzI0eRMREaHipoLvMpObdMVgl8_SFWV_kODp0bqZ5U88G__Q5Yk8XEZ4jVcKRkCh7ka98P8GoglMiOvwaQcPoB6sHBuNXZz5ANaKg/s200/Bryan+headshot.JPG" width="187" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's my irresistibly handsome mug, my standard publicity photo. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the things that makes us beautiful and unique is the asymmetry of our faces. Don't believe it? Go to </span><a href="http://www.symmeter.com/symfacer.htm" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">Symface.com</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and upload a headshot of yourself. This is the only decent headshot I have, and because I'm not directly facing the camera, the program had a little trouble. I recommend you use a straight-up headshot if possible, or it might look like</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> this:</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipwccXPNj2tVVxoENtxlILYc8uhiQINxBq3HAHLLusjOHibgzeBBvlKv9Xqjd3DZqjaGXlFnGWMTU18ID7JRDGxZx09SNEXiLRuyydnSYUNmsKkbZRGV7rrOwFC6IvYOmCpb0w4FUgg0/s1600/Bryan+symmetrical+skinny+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipwccXPNj2tVVxoENtxlILYc8uhiQINxBq3HAHLLusjOHibgzeBBvlKv9Xqjd3DZqjaGXlFnGWMTU18ID7JRDGxZx09SNEXiLRuyydnSYUNmsKkbZRGV7rrOwFC6IvYOmCpb0w4FUgg0/s320/Bryan+symmetrical+skinny+face.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From the looks of the above picture, Mrs. Fields has not been feeding me enough. <i>Eww!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then again, I kind of like this one:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFYPsLI2vwTjbUo2880g8k3MWbOv_P7gVxraBl95cRJmuJF-EDtkM4VxxGDvmJ30B-3870jCn4dq0Xako5d5tFqjAwzQq8Rr6aiOjiyBDPIo8YpA6p8tJi8cesP58e1pxJU6McFFdcR0/s1600/Bryan+symmetrical+fat+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFYPsLI2vwTjbUo2880g8k3MWbOv_P7gVxraBl95cRJmuJF-EDtkM4VxxGDvmJ30B-3870jCn4dq0Xako5d5tFqjAwzQq8Rr6aiOjiyBDPIo8YpA6p8tJi8cesP58e1pxJU6McFFdcR0/s320/Bryan+symmetrical+fat+face.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kinda makes me want to go to the beach and kick sand in Schwarzenegger's face. <i>Ahhnuld, you vimpy </i></span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">little </i><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">girly-man!</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Go to Symface.com and have some fun with it! There's a link to donate to the Red Cross on there, also--but verify before you click!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-32033354393751242972012-03-17T10:38:00.000-07:002012-03-19T18:53:55.465-07:00Froonga Planet & St. Patrick's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl7oGhGKkEfn2zaknZE2GUpeoXE3Ot2t9cPv-_y5v54hbJdCH40BPKpg4F-7OzxYvMPJ51eJADUJaaZVA_HTkVKZF0BexG_tpx0gU27ws7Z440MDOudwAPOB4-MKEGZJTwE7CHr7uyAGs/s1600/obj6geo6pg1p15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl7oGhGKkEfn2zaknZE2GUpeoXE3Ot2t9cPv-_y5v54hbJdCH40BPKpg4F-7OzxYvMPJ51eJADUJaaZVA_HTkVKZF0BexG_tpx0gU27ws7Z440MDOudwAPOB4-MKEGZJTwE7CHr7uyAGs/s1600/obj6geo6pg1p15.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="txt0">Frazz and Grunfloz return to Earth
in this wild sequel to <span class="ital"><i>Lunchbox and the Aliens</i>. </span>It's a
few days until Christmas, and while his parents are away at a convention, Nate
and his basset hound, Lunchbox, have to assist the aliens in stopping a hostile
invasion. But first they have to survive the Mill Ferron Fruitcake Festival and
Great-Aunt Nelly's entry in the bake-off...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="txt0">What the reviewers have said:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="txt2"><i><span class="bold">"Nothing says 'Christmas' like an alien-infested fruitcake that sucks
the flavor out of everything it touches..." --</span><span class="bold ital">School Library Journal </span></i></span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="bold">"...as
silly and fun to read as the first..." </span><span class="bold ital">--Kirkus
Reviews</span>.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We only have a few autographed hardcovers left in stock--<a href="http://www.bryanwfields.com/autographcopies.htm" target="_blank">order today!</a></span><br />
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<span style="color: lime; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">By the way, happy St. Patrick's Day!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(Who <i>says</i> I can't plug a Christmas book today?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Speaking of St. Patrick's day and spring break, many readers have asked me if I'm planning another Lunchbox book. The answer is, well, yes and no. Yes, I'm halfway through a new story that involves Lunchbox, Nate, the aliens, and spring break. No, I don't know when or if it will be published--I have to finish it first! I will, however, be including little tidbits of information in this blog about the Scwozzwort universe from time to time, in a feature called <i>Excerpts from the Encyclopedia of Everything Else. </i>Readers of <i>Lunchbox and the Aliens </i>will recognize that title as one of the many sources of information dumped into Lunchbox's brain during his first encounter with the aliens.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm also working on two new books. One involves a middle school chess club, cows, and time travel; the other is about little creatures from another dimension who travel to our world in search of marshmallows. I hope to finish at least one of them before the year is out! </span></div>Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608908335264232737.post-47159235907774027212012-03-15T22:13:00.002-07:002012-03-16T09:04:31.567-07:00Autographed copies of my books!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGoUN0viI_SoEuKz8Zc70igwWz7vtYdA85CyFhxRWsTZe1Ldv45BPzpW0iTmlBIbro45bMZsCh4eMPN_yKtTJZGkZzAajr9hE9uopikmtbraxzbc7k9NzXleYzpVrXREa2440LuP3mV2w/s1600/Lunchbox+official+paperback+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGoUN0viI_SoEuKz8Zc70igwWz7vtYdA85CyFhxRWsTZe1Ldv45BPzpW0iTmlBIbro45bMZsCh4eMPN_yKtTJZGkZzAajr9hE9uopikmtbraxzbc7k9NzXleYzpVrXREa2440LuP3mV2w/s200/Lunchbox+official+paperback+cover.jpg" width="126px" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Greetings, Lunchbox fans!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the biggest thrills of my life was the publication of my first book, matched only by the publication of my <i>second</i> book. Since its original hardcover release in 2006, <i>Lunchbox and the Aliens</i> has been featured in the Scholastic Book Fairs/Book Clubs, popped up in a lot of school and public libraries, and made thousands and thousands of kids snort and giggle and shoot root beer from their noses (hint: use caution when drinking root beer while reading this book--I can't be held responsible for the mess!).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A brief synopsis for the uninitiated:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Lunchbox is an ordinary basset hound until he's abducted by a pair of crazy aliens and accidentally made intelligent. With his new knowledge, he's sent back to Earth to build a machine to make alien food (known as <i>froonga</i>) from one of the planet's most abundant resources: <b>garbage</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Things get complicated when Lunchbox involves Nate, his 11-year old owner. Not only do they end up having to deal with a crooked politician, an evil garbage man, and weird alien technology, but the fate of the world may rest on whether or not Lunchbox can ever learn to catch a Frisbee!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To buy hardcover copies (autographed by yours truly) of<i> Lunchbox and the Aliens </i>and its sequel,<i> Froonga Planet</i>, follow <a href="http://www.bryanwfields.com/autographcopies.html" target="_blank">this link</a>. We only have a few hardcovers left in stock, so don't wait!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYKdTo2ry6Vn78lz-m6V_yAQkmZpf2sLAVEhv6pGTQxnM2zB5c1wGUUNDrRTuxK0FkZcPcx88Yv4kAyCikMTBon5XA8JDDHqHWbe4evzLnqk3tkMG2Bp9SB9rYul4teOnTqqzKHRig8c/s1600/obj5geo5pg1p15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYKdTo2ry6Vn78lz-m6V_yAQkmZpf2sLAVEhv6pGTQxnM2zB5c1wGUUNDrRTuxK0FkZcPcx88Yv4kAyCikMTBon5XA8JDDHqHWbe4evzLnqk3tkMG2Bp9SB9rYul4teOnTqqzKHRig8c/s1600/obj5geo5pg1p15.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKuk2_foQLDI_1GFRE9fmQC6xnFIWzHepEuXfciDGA22Wlf6-TohgYt-qh6iCSOkLMVuGWTukoATlBCb-EOSfGv0m7tQ2PVv0MbxAp-sWgl3Whoz51IqPfBadnrGItGk4zx81fvC2H84M/s1600/obj6geo6pg1p15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKuk2_foQLDI_1GFRE9fmQC6xnFIWzHepEuXfciDGA22Wlf6-TohgYt-qh6iCSOkLMVuGWTukoATlBCb-EOSfGv0m7tQ2PVv0MbxAp-sWgl3Whoz51IqPfBadnrGItGk4zx81fvC2H84M/s1600/obj6geo6pg1p15.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can also purchase regular, unsigned copies at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lunchbox-Aliens-Bryan-W-Fields/dp/0312561156/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1331874591&sr=8-4" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a> and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/froonga-planet-bryan-w-fields/1100350789?ean=9781429997683&itm=2&usri=bryan+w+fields" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>. <em> Froonga Planet</em> is also available for Nook and Kindle!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stay tuned for more silliness!</span></div>
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<br />Bryan W. Fieldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12567343514456565471noreply@blogger.com2