Actually, I found Paul Mounet's NY Times Obit. He died in his "domicile" at 75 of a heart attack, hardly to be considered an "unusual circumstance". As he was 75 years old, and the authorities knew he was dead in his apartment, one has to make the assumption that someone got concerned and went to check on him, which means they had to find his dead body and then go tell the police about it. So, Q.E.D, he died of KNOWN circumstances and his body WAS indeed found.
People will believe anything, and they'll believe it from anyone who cares to open their mouth and say the anything. Sheesh.
Let's see, what other interesting things are going on today?
Elise is undergoing a paradigm shift in her thinking. She said to me the other day, "I told myself I wasn't going to get up from my chair until I'd finished this page of my homework." She didn't say this to impress me, or because she thought it was what I wanted to hear. She just said it, matter-of-factly, whilst sitting in her "tv" chair with her spelling list in her lap.
Wow... And last night she was excited for me to test her on her spelling words. She's happy to go to school again, and even enjoys going to her tutoring classes an hour before regular school starts! This is compared to last year at this time, when someone was mean to her every single day, and she'd come home every afternoon to recite the litany of who stole and crumpled her paper, who tripped her, who yelled at her, who told her she was ugly, etc etc. Freakin' nightmare!
This shift in thinking tells me one very important thing: she's beginning to take ownership of her homework, and she's enjoying the sense of accomplishment she gets from doing it right. We have a mantra that we repeat, as a joke, whenever she does something really well: "Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Berkeley... Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Berkeley". Now I'm starting to weigh the crucial questions in my mind: Who do I root for, come football season? Harvard Crimson, Yale Bulldogs, Stanford Cardinal or Berkeley Bears?
Jeff is rooting for Annapolis. I dunno 'bout that one. Their mascot is a funky goat...And before you get that look, no, I am NOT one of those weird moms that pushes their kid to achieve grand things as a reflection of the parent's worth...
I'm one of those weird moms that wants their kid to grow up rich enough to support them when they get old.
Priorities, people!
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And now for something completely different. I found the following when, for some obscure reason or other I went through my YouTube saved videos.
Monrose. (I keep wanting to call them Montrose. Silly me. Ronnie is going to be upset when he hears.)
"What You Don't Know": I love this song, for all it falls in that category of "Unrequited Love", a subject that should give any intelligent adult the heebie jeebies. When you have an unrequited love and you finally break down and tell them how you feel about them, this song does NOT accurately describe the results. On top of that, the video they did is such a complete "Sixth Sense" rip-off, and does not jive even slightly with the subject of the song, that I find it completely off-putting.
Which is a shame because it's actually an incredibly cool song and really hit my "unrequited love" buttons, hence my initial "heebie jeebie" reaction. Unrequited love BAD. Requited love not much better. Nobody can live up to the towering set of expectations generated by UL.
And BTW, I've experienced UL twice in my life, both times many years ago, and all I can say is thank GOD it's (probably) never going to happen again, because it sucks just about as much as anything can.
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Okay, now I'm gettin' maudlin. Time to continue my search for magazine markets for some of my short stories. So there.
Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine. Whadya think? Beezy might find a home there. And Cat Fancy? That would be a good home for Agnus Dei.
Fantasy & Science Fiction... Wow, that would really be something, to get published there. We're talking Isaac freakin' "Holy of Holies" Asimov, Harlan Ellison... If you're going to dream, dream stupidly big, is what I always say.
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Another off-the-wall thought: Am I the only person who had never before heard the term WOACA (Women Of A Certain Age)?
To quote the nicely-rounded definition by Adrienne Martini :
"WOACA means those who are past the knitty-gritty of childbearing (yet may still have children under age 18) but not yet old enough to qualify as a crone."
I didn't realize there was an age bracket to fit me. I knew there had to be one that I fit into better than "Soccer Mom" at any rate, which is how I've usually described myself. WOACA. "Whoa-kah". There's even fashion for us WOACA's.
Found a nasty reference - Asswipe person from a blog, now defunct, entitled "Twenty-One Minutes":
"Two old WOACAs just came in and perched on the only two vacant chairs left in the Starbucks – said chairs which happen to be far too close to the bratty kids for these over-dressed and under-sexed ladies’s tastes. These old birds are giving the teen-agers some nasty looks. Think “I found six and a half roaches in my sandwich” nasty looks. That kind of nasty."
Wow. They just can't keep their derision to themselves, can they?And it kind of ALL runs to the tragedy displayed above; snide, hackneyed, and small-minded dialogue about completely unengaging happenings at Starbuck's. Worse yet, I think this dubious poet is hanging out at the Starbucks that's actually quite close to our house, on North First. Oh well. Probably just as well they stopped writing after a few months.
Anyway, Woacas. New word of the day. I guess it'll have to do till something better comes along.
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