My Name is not Lacy.

Thusly, life can never be at the pinnacle of bad.

I actually did not read a book tonight. This from a woman whost doctor has reported that the oil has been leeched from her hands by reading too much did not hold a book in her hands this evening.

What did I do on this momentous occasion?

I sorted beads.

I spread paper on the floor for the cat (and he is in feline rapture) then placed a bowl of tuna, a favorite spangle ball and catnip on afore mentioned paper. The cat is in Sphinx pose. When I wake at sunrise, he will still be in this position.

I did all of my laundry. Even the lingering riff raff, bottom of the basket laundry.

I watched four hours of the west wing.

I listened to Talk Talk over and over.

I folded the laundry.

I watched a show on octopi. Did you know that octopi, when faced with danger, are capable of emulating algae or seaweed and stealthily walking away from a predator as if nothing were happening?

"Yep. Nothing goin' on here! Just a piece of seaweed. Ooohhh, look! I'm a cocoanut! Don't want to eat me!"

The entire time, I was caffeinated, restless and refraining from making life changes based on boredom.

Sick of the gray. Sick of the dirty snow. Just a small leaf bursting beyond the crusty snow would make my spirit soar.


Bunny you should mention it

Peter Chianca says it better** than I ever could. *

* Unless I got over this shyness involved in expressing my opinion hampered by a tendency to write and hit the Publish Post button before the second and third thoughts kick in.










**and just so youse know, I now have a crap James Bond theme song in mine head. Damn you Carly Simon!


Thanks for your concern.

To address the various emails I've received in abundance of late,

My Penis Is Fine, Thank You!

Fast Finger Food?

Hungry? Planning on stopping for a quick bite to eat at your local fast food chain? If you feel something weird when you crunch down, put the burger down.

Or the chili, in this case. A woman, Anna Ayala, 39, of Las Vegas, at a Wendy's restaurant in San Jose, California, found a human finger in a bowl of chili on Wednesday.
"This individual apparently did take a spoonful, did have a finger in their mouth and then, you know, spit it out and recognized it," said Ben Gale, director of the department of environmental health for Santa Clara County. "Then they had some kind of emotional reaction and vomited."

Ben certainly has a way with words. Here are more of the same from another guy.

"Initially she did put this object in her mouth and did bite down on it and wasn't sure exactly what it was," Santa Clara County Health Officer Dr. Martin Fenstersheib said at a news conference. "She's doing OK. Initially she was a bit grossed out it was described to me, and vomited a number of times."

Fenstersheib said the finger had been cooked at a high enough temperature to kill any viruses.

Medical Examiner Dr. Joseph O'Hara says, "The segment of skin has very irregular torn edges, it looks like its lacerated. It's not incised - incised meaning it would have been with a sharp edge, like a knife or something. That was not the case it was torn, it had multiple puncture defects."

"Suddenly something crunchy was in my mouth,'' she said, ``and I spit it out.''

Officials said the fingertip was approximately 1 3-8-inches long and a half-inch piece of fingernail was also found. They believe it belongs to a woman because of the long, manicured nail.

I saw this on CNN this morning. The reporter could hardly keep a straight face. I also got to see a photo of the finger but despite scouring the internet, I haven't found it for you yet. I'll let you know if it pops up.

Idol Talk

Billy Idol, the 49-year-old snarly lipped singer famous for motorcycle crashes and rebellious yelling, has been bleaching the hair on his head for decades. When hair in the 'backstage' area starting going a little gray, Idol took the situation to hand.
He recently reported to Maxim magazine: "I shaved my balls - they were going grey, so I shaved them. It's like steel wool down there!"

Daquiri Deck?

Orioles pitcher Eric DuBose 28, was arrested at 1:17 a.m. after an officer on foot patrol observed the pitcher's black GMC truck swerving into an oncoming lane, according to the Sarasota County police report. Deputy David Clark Jr. saw DuBose's truck swerve across the yellow line three times. Clark noted that DuBose's speech was slurred, and the pitcher exhibited poor balance, had watery and blood-shot eyes and an "odor of alcoholic beverage."

DuBose informed Clark he had "a couple" drinks at the Cafe Gardens and Daquiri Deck in Sarasota. When instructed to recite the alphabet, DuBose allegedly said, "I'm from Alabama, and they have a different alphabet."





No word on how an officer on foot patrol managed to pull over a freaking truck.

Shootin' at the walls of sanity!


Watched the Bands Re-united featuring Scandal. Now bad, bad song stuck in head. Need help. Mind going numb....




UPDATE: The nightmare has worsened.
Scandal morphed into Billy Squier singing 'In the Dark'


Life isn't easy from the singular side
Down in the hole some emotions are hard to hide
It's your decision it's a chance that you take
It's on your head it's a habit that's hard to break
Do you need a friend would you tell no lies
Would you take me in are you lonely in the dark...

You never listen to the voices inside
They fill your ears as you run to a place to hide
You're never sure if the illusion is real
You pinch yourself but the mem'ries are all you feel
Can you break away from your alibis
Can you make a play will you meet me in the dark...

Don'tcha need me...hey, hey
Don'tcha need me...oh yea
Don'tcha leave me...hey, hey
Don'tcha need me...oh yea

then into Rick Springfield singing 'Jessie's Girl.'



I play along with the charade,
there doesn't seem to be a reason to change
You know, I feel so dirty when they start talking cute
I wanna tell her that I love her,
but the point is probably moot
'Cos she's watching him with those eyes
And she's lovin' him with that body, I just know it
And he's holding her in his arms late, late at night

Someone, please, help me.

Silly Solution


Yes. Dog Condoms.


Sole Proof

Rebekah Armstrong awoke to the sound of a lawn mower. That wouldn't be odd except for the fact that it was two in the morning. Turning to her husband Ian she found his side of the bed empty. Curiouser and curiouser.

Rebekah walked to the bedroom window and looked outrside.

"Ian was mowing the lawn completely starkers. I dread to think how long he'd been there but he'd nearly finished. I was going to wake him but I have always been told it can be dangerous to disturb someone who is sleepwalking. In the end I just unplugged the mower, went back to bed and let him get on with it."

Ian, 34, later got back into bed. He didn't believe Rebekah when she told him what he'd been up to.

"It wasn't until I told him to look at the soles of his feet that he finally believed me - they were filthy."

Eight rules for writing fiction: Kurt Vonnegut

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

4. Every sentence must do one of two things -- reveal character or advance the action.

5. Start as close to the end as possible.

6. Be a sadist. Now matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they are made of.

7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

-- Vonnegut, Kurt Vonnegut, Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction (New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons 1999), 9-10.

Powder Monkey

What are the worst jobs in history? And what are you qualified for? Take this icky test and find out!

I, my dear droogs, am more than qualified to be a powder monkey!

Here's me, dashed handsome in my monkey gear! Note the sexy ascot and sun bleached hair.



"Can you keep calm in a crisis? Women and children are needed to help win the maritime war against Napoleon Bonaparte. Nerves of steel and a good level of concentration are required by those who will supply the brave gun crews aboard our naval ships with gunpowder in the heat of battle.


You need a good pair of legs to shoot down to the copper-lined magazine where you will fill your powder keg, before charging back up the stairs and through the ship, stepping over dead bodies and slipping in blood, to bring your keg to the gunner. But if you're a woman, don't expect to get a naval service medal when all the fighting is over –you'll be refused!"


Sure, sure. Good enough to slip in blood and bring my keg to the gunner. But do I get more than a grunt of appreciation and a slap on the my roped up skivvies? Nnnnnnoooooooo........

Pet Pillows

No, this is not a play on Brian Wilson's newly re-released album, nor is it a pun on peeves.

It is, however, a rather strange way to keep a beloved pet around after their expiration date.



Jeanettes Taxidermy is there for you in your time of grief.

Important safety tip: Please freeze your pet immediately upon passing to insure there will be no hair slippage.


'It's perfect madness'

In the first of an occasional series in which the greatest recording artists reveal their favourite records, Tom Waits writes about his 20 most cherished albums of all time. So for the lowdown on Zappa and Bill Hicks, step right up...

Let Her In - Mullet Style


Note: The "Best of..." John Travolta.


Oh, What a Dumb Dumb, Henry Little

Henry Hill, whose gangland experiences inspired the movie "GoodFellas," has been charged with felony drug possession.

On August 15, Hill, who is apparently too stupid to realize his luggage would be searched as he went through the North Platte Regional Airport, was found to posses methamphetamine and cocaine.

Hill had sought refuge in the witness protection program after agreeing to testify against his former mob bosses from New York. Whether he left voluntarily or was kicked out is disputed. His level of intelligence is not.

In a recent interview with The Associated Press, Hill said he had been addicted to the mobster lifestyle.

"But you overcome it I think. I mean, you succeed," he said.

Yes. Suceed in making the same mistake, over and over and over.

I am in love with a bald, Jewish man.

Wednesday and Thursday have gone. I've taken Friday to recover my stamina and to get over the wound to my heart that appeared as Reed Farrel Coleman made his goodbye.

All of this was wrapped around the events of Thursday night. All in anticipation of a small man with a spark in his eyes that could light the east coast during a black out.

Ken Bruen has established an almost cult-like following based on his writing, his charm and a wicked sense of humor. Not many could quiet the raucous St. Patrick's crowd that had gathered at Der Deutsche Cafe Brucke, but this man succeeded by merely entering the place. Among those gathered we're Jason Starr and Reed Coleman. They joined MR. Buren and these three men that on the surface seem so different, stood together like the Three Wiseass Men and read from each others books.

Coleman read from The Magdalen Martyrs, Bruen's latest in the Jack Taylor series. Coleman's gravelly voice lent a tough edge to this dark prose.

Starr read from Coleman's latest installment in the refreshing and excellent P.I. series featuring Moe Prager, The James Deans.

Bruen picked up Starr's wonderfully twisted Twisted City and found himself apologizing a few minutes in for 'fuck' laden passage he had chosen to read.

After much applause and a few Kinsale Ale's (love at first glug) the jovial crowd mobbed our hapless heroes as Ruth and I slipped out to begin preparations for the evenings festivities.

That night slipped easily into early morning with a lot of laughter and my usual ball busting.

It wasn't a drunken, back-slapping testosterone riddled chaos festival. Nor was it a night of tea sipping as interest rates and the chaos theory were discussed at length.

When Ken left I had my usual sense of brushing up against a gentle, strong and uncommonly generous spirit featuring the keenest of wits. I'm sure no one feels there is ever enough time spent with the man.

Luck and crime fiction bring together people that feel like family. It is a blessing.

But my heart will always have a most special place reserved for the bald man who takes a ball busting better than anyone I know.

Important Notes!

Whilst sleeping on an inflatable mattress, it is best if said mattress retains air.


More than one writer in a room guarantees bizarre conversation until the whee! hours.


Whost is not a word but don't try to mention that at 2 in the morning.

Bananas are good.


Gravity works.

I was an avid watcher.

The hair and the grins. Enticing, yes?I was never able to emulate the pig tails to my satisfaction.

Lori and Judy are both writers for Newsmaker magazine, but when trouble calls - they become Electra Woman and Dyna Girl! Electra Woman and Dyna Girl use the latest in technological gadgetry, such as the CrimeScope, (supplied by Frank, their assistant) and their wits to solve crimes and capture the various villains they encounter (including the Sorcerer, Glitter Rock, Ali Baba, Spider Lady, the Pharoah, and the Empress of Evil!)
Remember the theme song? I do!

"Electra Woman and Dyna Girl
Fighting all evil deeds
Each writes for a magazine
Hiding the life she leads.
--- Electra Woman and Dyna Girl ---
Summoned to Electra-base
By Electra-comps they wear
Lori and Judy dare to face
Any criminal anywhere.
--- Electra Woman and Dyna Girl!"
Click here to get the best prices on season 1!


Because you've been good...

...and he's so bad, an early mullet for St. Patrick's!

The Lord of the Mullet!

Neal Pollack Jumps on the Bruen Bandwagon

But insists on keeping a leg dragging on the ground.

"I finished Book Number 10 amidst all the excitement of my triumphant return to the lower midlist of industry convention speakers. That book is The White Trilogy, by Ken Bruen, three short novels about South London cops that lay out the perameters for contemporary noir writing. Bruen's main character, a brutal alcoholic lout named Brant, is a revelation, and I like how the villains always get what's coming to them, but never at the hands of the cops. The books actually improve as they go along. The third volume of the trilogy, "The McDead," was far and away my favorite.

Not like Ken Bruen is reading this, but I did find his incessant referencing of other noir stories and movies within his text. I almost threw the book across the room when Brant ran into Ed McBain during a trip to New York. It drives me crazy when writers over-reveal their sources. This particular narrative flaw is common in the crime genre--Carl Hiassen's characters are often loner weirdoes who like Garcia Marquez--but it's still annoying.

Nevertheless, Ken Bruen is not the kind of British Isles writer who normally gets attention in the U.S., but he's a damn sight less pointy-headed than most of the popular ones. Recommended."

I don't think this is what St. Patrick had in mind.


In 1962, 100 pounds of dye were added to the River, enough to keep it green for a week. The city continues to dye the river each St. Patrick's Day. To minimize pollution, only 40 pounds of food coloring is now used to keep the River green for only a few hours.
In the mid-Nineteenth Century St. Patrick's Day became associated with politics. Irish immigrants found themselves under attack in America. In 1844 a mob in Philadelphia burned Irish homes and dynamited Catholic churches. Laws were passed in Massachussetts forbidding Irish Catholics from holding public office.

As a show of political strength, New York's separate St. Patrick's Day processions joined together as a single parade in 1848. St. Patrick's Day became a day to organize a political community. Denied voting rights in Ireland, and faced with attacks in America, Irish immigrants formed a powerful voting bloc in America's cities including New York, Boston and Chicago. Civil service became a source of employment for Irish-Americans who were denied work elsewhere.


St. Patrick's Festival wasn't established by the Government of Ireland until November 1995.

The first St Patrick's Festival was held over one day, and night, on March 17th 1996. With a little over four months in which to effect change, the main object was to demonstrate that changes were afoot and starting the process away from "just a parade". The live audience for the day was estimated to be 430,000.

In 1997, we dropped the word "Day" from our title and it became "St. Patrick's Festival", a three day event. The festival has since grown to become a four day festival and in 2001 is was enjoyed by 1.2million people.

Preparation for the first St Patrick's Festival used to take only 5 months, but with the growth of the Festival, it now takes 18 months to plan for Ireland's biggest annual celebration.

Saint Patrick is known for driving the snakes from Ireland. There are no snakes in Ireland, but there probably never have been - the island was separated from the rest of the continent at the end of the Ice Age. As in many old pagan religions, serpent symbols were common and often worshipped. Driving the snakes from Ireland was probably symbolic of putting an end to that pagan practice. While not the first to bring christianity to Ireland, it is Patrick who is said to have encountered the Druids at Tara and abolished their pagan rites. The story holds that he converted the warrior chiefs and princes, baptizing them and thousands of their subjects in the "Holy Wells" that still bear this name.