Eyehole Deep in Muddy Water

All around me, I could practically raise the dead.

In Rowan Oak:

"I have found that the greatest help in meeting any problem is to know where you yourself stand. That is, to have in words what you believe and are acting from."

How a man could think so clearly on the one hand, yet write such obfuscated prose on the other, will forever be a mystery to Moi. But I think I would have liked him anyway.

Ole Miss:

In the year I was born, the man represented by this statue, James Meredith, was the first African American to graduate from the University of Mississippi. But not without first having had other men, grim faced and gun toting, try to prevent him from doing so. My stomach tightens every time I try to imagine it. I wish they'd left the bullet holes in the surrounding buildings.


Graceland:

Because he can break us all with one song.

And this spot:

Chilling, sorrowful, and yet strangely hopeful.

I Knew It

You Belong in Milan

Stylish and sophisticated, you want to enjoy a truly European life - away from tourists! Milan fits you perfectly. Great shopping, high quality food, lots of culture... with very little hype.

What European City Do You Belong In?

I gotta go watch LSU kick some Ole Miss (Bob, why isn't it Ol'?) butt, pay homage to Fabulous 1970s Decor, weep over Elivs, and find me somewhere's a fried oyster po' boy sandwich. Or seven.

In the meantime, take the above Test: What Fern City Do You Belong In? and play amongst yourselves 'til I get back.

Ciao,
Moi

You! Cake or Death?

A couple things you need to do today:
1. Run your Web site through The Lolinator (www.lolinator.com). The Pirate sent this to Moi last night as I was furiously working on an ass client and I laughed so hard I nearly tinkled. This is what she did to Bite the Apple. Check out the Kung Fu kitty with da pittie.

2. Go next door to Moi's baking site. 'Cause I'm not going to rest until I con, uh, entice enough readers to justify hanging up a bunch a' Google ads for Kitchen Aide mixers and Williams and Sonoma tart pans whose proceeds will allow Moi to retire from writing with enough time to spend half the day training for mini-tris and other half on the sofa with bon-bons and the entire collection of South Park on DVD. (The quality of that last sentence right there is proof enough, Party People, why this is an urgent goal.)

But, most importantly, an actual recipe is up and running. If you don't bake, maybe you can con, uh, entice, someone into making it for you.

3. Have a simply splendid day

Moi

Irony Much?

HOW DOES ONE GO FROM THIS:

TO THIS?

I dunno, but the Eric Cartman in Moi hasn't giggled this maniacally in ages.

Dancing With Myself

Another shameless plug for Moi's new baking site.

Come on over, Party People – it's no fun doing this all by myself. Even if it means I get to drink all the tequila.

Lazy Ass Excuse for a Blog Post #2

While I firmly believe there is no crying in baseball, it seems that doesn't apply when it comes to NaNo. I don't know what's wrong with me this year. My brain is a hollowed out husk of its former self and my creativity has flipped me the bird. Last time I saw it, it was lounging on the sofa with a six pack of Fresca and a party-sized bag of Cheetos, zoning out in front of Fashion Television's coverage of the Spring 2008 Milan collections (yay! Luisa Beccaria – boo! Gucci Gucci Goo).

So, I will spend all weekend struggling to wrest my creativity out from the sticky-fingered clutches of crap television and trans-fat-soaked snacks. After all, my novel does feature sex and candy and cowboys. That ougtta be worth something.

In the meantime, Party People, let's take a moment to hunt down my creativity and take a gander at what, exactly, it would clothe itself in, given a $5 bazillion lottery win and just the right occasion:

If my creativity worked for a mega wattage corporate-type corporation and they were throwing a mega fabulous Christmas party and my dumb ass creativity had actually managed NOT to fall asleep at its desk one too many times from the stunning boredom of it all and hence didn't get itself barred from an invitation, my creativity would wear this:


And if my creativity's bestest friend in the whole wide world suddenly up and had a wedding, and I mean a REALLY REAL wedding, complete with cocktails and canapes and hot 20 year old waiters, instead of some drunken five minute ceremony at 2 a.m. in Vegas with Elvis in attendance, it would wear this:


And if my creativity were suddenly called upon to attend oh, I dunno, a posh Southern-Style event like the Kentucky Derby or maybe some second cousin of S.B.'s niece's coming out party, it would wear this:



And if I suddenly had to send my fat-ass creativity off to the grocery store for even more Fresca and Cheetos? I'd ask that it for Gawd's sake shed those stinkin' sweat pants and instead drape itself in this:



Finally, if my creativity absolutely refuses to get its fat ass off that sofa and into my office and behind my keyboard, I'm going to make sure, come hell or high water, it's going to spend the rest of its existence wearing this:


Pee yew, Party People. Gucci is just downright poochie this year.

As If I Don't Have Enough To Do

And if you don't, either, hop on over to Moi's new baking blog and get your sweet tooth tickled.