So You Think You Can Blog

Forgive me, Father,¹ for I have sinned. It has been five weeks since my last post.

I can cite various reasons for this lapse — laziness, extra quality time with The Professor, blogs are soooo 2011 — but the main one is this: I haven't come up with anything worth sharing.

But Nate, you might say (because you're prone to talking out loud to blogs), you still haven't come up with anything worth sharing, yet here you are screaming into the void for all the denizens of the interwebs to hear. To which I say: I'm not screaming. You can tell I'm not because I have yet to use one exclamation point or put any words in all caps.² Also, this is written, so if net denizens are hearing it, they should probably start taking their meds again.

So why, you may ask (because you're still under the delusion you're talking to me), am I blogging now if I have nothing to say? You'd just as well ask why the sky is blue or why babies are cute. Because no matter what your question is, I'm not going to answer it. If I did, it'd mean I actually had something to say, which would mean I'd be contradicting myself. And I may be a lot of things — overburdened web designer, light-hearted rogue, the hero that Gotham needs right now — but I am no hypocrite.

You may be asking yourself (because you've given up on me, but haven't yet shed the habit of talking out loud), what does this mean for my blog? Will all my new posts be this void of substance? Well, if you look at my archives, you can see that, yeah, they will be. That's pretty much how I roll.³

Welcome to the Wheel: All flash, no substance.

Oh, and I lied about the flash.


¹ ...of the Internet, Al Gore.
² Okay, technically the word "I" is in all caps, and I've used it repeatedly, but that's being rather literal, isn't it? Who do you think you are, me? I hope not. If everyone starts thinking they're me, I'll be beside myself. (Belated bad pun alert.)
³ Okay, technically I roll by tucking my knees into my chest and going ass over teakettle, but that's being rather literal, isn't it? (Except for the part about the teakettle. That's metaphor, or some such nonsense.)

Space Haiku Contest Winners!

Before we get to the winners, I'd like to share a few details about the entries. I'm not sure if my friends lean this way or if the haiku format merely lends itself to such things, but five haiku referenced Star Trek (final score: Kirk 2, Picard 1), yet no other show or film garnered more than one mention before the deadline. (The others: Star Wars, Galaxy Quest, Firefly, Hitchhiker's Guide, and Invader Zim.)

On the other hand, space apparently makes you people think of flatulence. And mooning. And Uranus. That's six haiku claimed by the entirely wrong type of black hole.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who entered haiku in this year's contest (or shared it on Facebook, like Matthew of the QQQE). You made my work as judge tougher than ever. As usual, my decisions are completely biased and made without the slightest hint of logic. In other words, I am the anti-Spock.

If none of your haiku appear below, know that your best one just barely missed the cut. (Unless you're my dad. Then, just be happy you didn't get a dishonorable mention this time around.) And if you haven't already done so, make sure to check out all the entries. There's even a trio of anonymous entries near the end whose puns put my own to shame...

Honorable Mentions

Susan Kaye Quinn tried to win on a technicality. But Susan, you should know: the Wookiee only wins if I let him win.

Sweet like gorimn wine
My soaring space prose triumphs!
Wookie always wins

Scott nets two. The first because it offers up a double whammy, running out of space while talking about it. The second because... well, it's just so shiny.

Space, The Final Fron-
Dammit! Space, The Final Fron-
You know what I mean!

Hero of Canton
Unintentional patron
Orange woolen hat

Joshua's captures the futility of space travel. At least, the futility of space travel without having brought enough oxygen. Or fuel. Or...

A solo journey.
Much too far from planetfall.
Almost out of air.

I feel I had to reward one of the entries from the dark (and/or smelly) side. This one is from Joelle:

I dreamt of space flight
But studied proctology;
Uranus beckoned.

A woman called Mittens shares the gospel truth about kittens:

Cats in king sized beds
Plenty of space, so why must
you bogart my side

And then there's this one, which only works if you know Naomi's son is named Solomon. And is only accurate for another two months, at which time another son will rise and throw everything out of alignment:

My whole universe
(Not just one puny system)
Revolves around Sol.

First Place — Traditional

I don't have anything clever to say to introduce this entry. Which is good, because traditional haiku are serious stuff. The first winner is Andrea Gilbey:

Beyond this green world
Past the deep blue and farther
All is midnight black.

First Place — Humorous/Creative

Joelle snagged the top humor prize (and a gift card) with this inventive entry:

Spacebarisbroken
Wheredomywordsstartandend
Ican'tworklikethis

First Place — Mostly Harmless

And as you can see, I did decide to award a third top prize after all. It goes to Naomi, for proffering this sage advice:

Vast and uncharted
You cannot prepare for it.
Just bring your towel

And that'll do it for this year's haiku contest. Andrea, Joelle, and Naomi, please email me (or comment below) to let me know if you'd prefer your digital monies from Amazon or iTunes.

Congratulations to all the winners, and thanks again to everyone who entered and/or stopped by. I'm already looking forward to next year's contest...

Haiku Contest: Space!

** The contest is now closed. Winners will be announced soon.**

Announcing the launch of The Wheel’s 4^th Annual Haiku Contest!

We've done ninja. We've done pirates. We've done robots. But this year we boldly go where no few haiku have gone before: Space!

It's pretty simple.
Step 1: You write a haiku.
(There is no step 2.)

Just follow the standard haiku structure (5 syllables, 7 syllables, then 5 again) and make it something to do with space. Whether you opt for proven science or aliens or pop culture or another meaning of space entirely is up to you.

To enter, write your own space-themed haiku in the comments section below. Two or three lucky winners will receive spacebucks $25 gift cards.

I will be selecting the best haiku in each of two categories:

• Humorous/Creative
• Traditional (i.e. eloquent, evocative, etc.)

In addition, I may also reward a third entry, depending on my mood. And the mood of my wallet.

The deadline to submit a haiku is this Tuesday, May 7 at 5:00pm (Eastern Time). Official "rules" are below.

Official "Rules":

1. To enter, post space-themed haiku in the comments section below. Multiple submissions are allowed, but if you submit more than five (5) entries, there won't be enough room in the contest for all of them and they'll burn up on re-entry.
2. Standard haiku rules apply. To qualify, each entry must be a three-line poem, the first line containing exactly 5 syllables, the second line 7 syllables, and the third line 5 syllables. If you miscount, the launch of your entry will be scrubbed and you'll have to start over from scratch.
3. The contest is open until Tuesday, May 7, 2013 at 5:00pm, Eastern Time. If you try to sneak an entry in after the deadline, it will be treated as a stowaway and sent hurling off into the black via the airlock. It will not survive.
4. Entries must be in English. (i.e. Using Japanese kanji will not help you win for best traditional haiku.) If I can't understand your entry, I'll assume it's a message from an alien world and be too busy trying to decipher it to award you any money.
5. Anonymous entries will not win. If you don't tell me who you are, clearly you are a conspiracy nut who only wants to get your hands on the alien message from rule #4. I will never let you see anything of mine, and that includes gift cards.
6. Prizes will be awarded in each of two (2) categories: Humorous/Creative and Traditional. A third prize may be awarded if the mood (or a light saber) strikes me.
   
   • First place winners will each receive a $25 gift card from either Amazon or iTunes (their choices).
   • An indeterminate number of Honorable Mentions will receive bragging rights over everyone who doesn’t win. Also, honor (mentioned).
   • If my father submits an entry, there's a good chance there will also be a Dishonorable Mention.
7. I will act as sole judge, and select the winning haiku based on the aforementioned criteria, as well as other criteria I make up as I go along. All decisions are final, and will not be changed under any circumstances. Unless I'm threatened by a Wookiee. Then I'll let the Wookiee win.

I'm Not Here

Sure, it may look like I'm posting inane drivel to my blog, but I'm actually working on my novel right now.

No, really.

Don't believe me? Feast your eyes on these killer lines I just wrote:

And there, in the middle of it all, Lou. Doing not a goddamn thing.

That's some fine prose right there, isn't it? No, of course not. It's utter rubbish.¹ But this is still the first draft, so I'm allowed to churn out line after line of horrendously horrific garbage. I'm the only one reading it, after all.

I won't get away with it for long, however.² I'm inching — or rather, millimetering — toward the novel's stunning conclusion³ as we speak.⁴

That's right, the end is near(...ish). Sometime this year, I'll put the finishing touches on Chapter 40, sit back, give a little smile and say, "Shit. I have a lot of editing to do." But then I'll begin the edits, and the second draft will go faster, because I've always found editing easier. I'll remove all the trash from this draft, or at least polish it up so it's another man's treasure, and then finally start to let people read it.

That's right, you might actually get to read my novel sometime soon(...ish).⁵ Now, aren't you glad I'm not here? Instead of entertaining you for a couple minutes now, I'm working on something that you'll never read could keep you entertained for hours.

That is all. Now just carry on, and pretend like I was never here.

(Because I wasn't.)


¹ Yep, two straight sentence fragments. Coupled with casual profanity. My writing's classy as all fuck.
² Some shaggy fellow has started snooping around with his dog.
³ What's stunning is it may actually have a conclusion.
⁴ Note: We are not actually speaking. These are words on a page. Er, screen. Unless you printed this out. You didn't, did you? If you wasted paper printing out my blog, we are going to have words.
⁵ Assuming you're a person. As I said, I'm only letting people read it. If you're an animal, you'll have to wait for my next book, Thank You Furry Much. If you're a robot, in 2014 I'll be doing Life Sentience.

Give Her the Ol' Freudian Slip

I have nothing substantial enough to warrant a full post, but here are some various odds and ends (mostly odds).

~~~~~

Fact #1: The Professor (age: 21 mos.) is a quick study. Repeat something a couple times and he's got it.
Fact #2: I got bored with animal sounds.

Translation: He has no idea what a pirate is, but whenever he hears the word he enthusiastically responds with "Arrrrrrr!" (Also, when Denise warned his daycare teacher of another one he'd learned, this was her reaction: "Ah, that explains nap time yesterday. Everyone else had fallen asleep, but I hear this little voice, and he's there saying 'nombie brains nombie brains nombie brains.'")

~~~~~

In my new office, not far from my desk, there are signs directing people to the "Imagination Conference Room" and the "Possibilities Room." I'd make a wisecrack about having such things in an insurance company, but I'm too busy daydreaming of Epcot.*

* Okay, so I may have also printed out signs to post beside them, pointing to the Conference Room of Tomorrow. I only have so much willpower, people.

~~~~~

Times The Professor has said the following phrases without being prompted:
"I love Mommy" — 0
"I love Daddy" — 0
"I love TRASH!" — 123 (and counting)

~~~~~

Here's a bumper sticker for the psychology major in your life. You're welcome.*

* Note: not an actual bumper sticker. Technically, it's just a jpeg. To make it a bumper sticker you'll need to glue your smartphone to your bumper.

~~~~~

One of my fellow web designers recently received this feedback on a mockup:
Use more color. (Add more "white space," but not white space.)*

* Yeah, I have no idea what it means, either. All I know is she could have avoided the whole situation if she'd only asked for feedback, but not "feedback."

~~~~~

Also, I'm not sure if you'd call this a meme, a parody of a meme, a tasteless pie chart, or just a waste of twelve seconds of your life, but here's another image I created recently:

~~~~~

So, that's what I've been up to. How about you?

So Long, Anal Place

For the past 8 years or so, every time I've left my office this sign has greeted me from across the street:



It's a pretty clear example of why you shouldn't choose "canal" as the first word of something, then make all the letters the same case, and plant shrubbery where it will obscure the first letter.¹

Anyway, today's the last day I'll see this sign for a while, since I'm being moved downtown. And sadly, there's no anal place across the street from the downtown office.²

Not even if you use the rear entrance.<sup>3


1</sup> Or, depending on your sense of humor, it's a pretty clear example of why you should.
² Or, if there is, it's marked much more discreetly.
³ Yeah, I went there. To the rear entrance, that is. There isn't any sign.

No More Rhymes Now, I Mean It (or, Averse to Tuesday Mornings)

I thought I would give you a poem today
On this lackluster Tuesday morn,
In hopes I might make your whole outlook less gray,
Or even feel like you're reborn.
Unfortunately, my descriptions are weak,
As is my grasp of metaphor.
Oh, you'll be left wanting if fine verse you seek;
My skills in this realm are quite poor.

But if all you care for is rhythm and rhyme,
Perhaps things will turn out alright.
For instance, it's easy to rhyme "rhyme" with "time."
Oh, who am I kidding? That's trite.
It's boring! It's horrible! Are we agreed?
This venture was doomed from the start.
I've nothing to say; you've no reason to read.
This isn't a poem. It's art.


If you were actually hoping for poetry, my sincere apologies.<sup>1


1</sup> There once was a footnote named Shorty
Whose syllables numbered near forty.
It didn't make sense,
And without recompense,
It ended. Would you like some more tea?