BOOK UPDATE: I am somewhat reconsidering the wisdom of keeping tabs on my book's progress via my blog. On Thursday I got an e-mail from an agent that said: "So you've been rejected five times and have a narrator that compels readers to stop reading… I’ll bite." He asked to see a synopsis and the first three chapters.
So things appear to be going alright at the moment, but I worry that perhaps I should be more, you know, professional. I don't want to hurt my chances of having someone being interested in my novel by pointing out that other people were not. But I am crap at being professional. It's like a tall red-headed white guy with a thick Vietnamese accent -- it's a disconnect.
I decided today that I wanted to give some of my hard-earned money to a faceless evil corporation, so I dropped into a Starbucks. I had the comic-haughtily named Chantico drinking chocolate. Good Lord Almighty Jesus On Water Skis, that drink was a little much. It was like drinking cake batter.
If you plan on trying it, I would suggest thinning it out with something... like Jameson. Of course, that seems to be my solution to just about everything.
My wife is still out in St. George, living la vida mojada. I've had a few people ask if she and her family are OK. Of course, they are -- they're Mormons. Brigham Young established the center of town well away from the river and my wife's family, who are descended from Brigham's body guards, wisely chose to build their sturdy colonial-style home only a few blocks from the temple. The homes nearest the river are relatively new, which means that their occupants are likely just people from elsewhere who moved to St. George for its usually warm weather. "People from elsewhere" means non-Mormons, which means they had it coming.
Side note: There are no bars is Washington County, where St. George is located -- trust me, I've looked -- but Park City has the most lax liquor laws in the state.
My co-workers and I have been developing a new slang as of late. It started when I got them in the habit of using a U.S. senator's name in place of a rude body part, as in: "If he doesn't want to follow those instructions, he can just kiss my Saxy Chambliss."
(Play the game yourself. Here's a list of U.S. senators)
Thursday, after reading that some snack vendors are developing a color-coded system to determine the healthfulness of their snacks, we realized that this system would likely be adopted into the slang lexicon.
"That guy is so red snack," a girl might say, meaning that the boy is appealing but not good for her.
Not having bothered to actually look at the color-coding system, we developed the phrase "blue snack." This is someone who is good for you but may not be that interesting -- the archetypal good Christian girl, as it were. Although, having married a good Mormon girl, I can assure you that they shag like red snacks.
Peanuts, by the way, are really good for you.
I wish St. Paul's mayor was this cool.