When vanity press just isn't vain enough

Donald and Rosie, in happier timesLeave it to The Donald to pay people to stand in line to get his new book.

According to the New York Daily News: Donald Trump passed out at least $20,000 in cash yesterday to boost sales of his new, $27 book - but the money didn't come out of his pockets.

Crisp $100 bills were doled out by The Learning Annex to the first 100 people who lined up outside Barnes & Noble on Fifth Ave. at 46th St. to buy the book, "Think Big and Kick Ass in Business and in Life." The next 200 people got $50 each and at least 500 more received $10 bills.

It takes a lot of chutzpah to name every property you own after yourself. It takes even more to try and trademark the phrase, "You're fired!" But this one takes ego (and the onion loaf) to a new level.

Then again, maybe it was a vainglorious necessity. After all, ten years ago I walked into a Costco in Silverdale, Washington, and sitting at a folding table signing her new book was Ivana Trump. She was elegantly dressed with a publicist at her elbow. Between the time I walked in to the time I left, she probably signed two books. I think grade-schoolers with a box of free puppies got more attention.

So in the distant future, when my book comes out, come on down. There just might be a little something in it for ya, (wink) if ya know what I mean. 

The real reason why writers drink

WARNING: If this blog post drifts into babblespeak you have my new best friend, Mr. Vicodin to thank. Plus an additional muscle relaxer that could be used to calm down stampeding circus animals.

Well, it turns out that I’ve been writing and editing so much that I’ve developed tendonitis in my hand and wicked pain in my lower back. That whole sedentary thing coming back to haunt me, despite regular breaks and a noonday run of 3-5 miles. (Maybe I’m running too much?)

I wish I could say these injuries came from roughstock bull-riding or jiu-jitsu training, but no, I’m in pain from sitting here becoming one with my keyboard. (Chaps optional). Somewhere Robert Mitchum is tossing back his seventh drink of the morning and excoriating me to suck it up or turn in my man-card.

I did make one feeble attempt at maintaining productivity though. Yesterday I splurged on an aeron-chair knockoff with more dials and adjustable levers than Dolly Parton’s corset. It’s one of those pricey form-fitting jobbies, perfectly suited to Halo or WOW addicts––or writers on deadline.

Speaking of deadlines, back to work I go. Though I’m keeping my Pink Floyd handy just in case that muscle relaxer kicks in.

This week we'll explore the fascinating world of barnacles, writers and other flightless birds

Do you have the creativity it takes to become a succcesful writer?Recently, a vocational rehab specialist called wanting to know all about my job. Basically, she wanted me to describe my day—how many hours I spent in front of the computer, any type of heavy lifting involved, that kind of thing.

Her goal was to create a profile of a freelance writer/designer, so that an injured government employee could possibly be retrained to do what I do. I tried to explain that I’m not just listlessly tapping a keyboard and pushing a mouse around––that most of my heavy lifting is done between my ears and that a modicum of creativity is actually required. This drew a round of “Hmmms” and “I sees,” as she contemplated the possibility of a guy injured in a drunken forklift accident being retrained to drive a desk.

As I attempted to explain what I did for a living, I realized I was describing colors that just weren’t in her box of crayons. We lived in two different worlds. Hers was quantitative. Mine qualitative. As she finished her notations, she summarized my job in one word: “So, basically your job is… sedentary.” (Not exactly how I would describe it––but hey, thanks, and you don’t look so spry yourself).

More on this tomorrow. If I can wake up the chimp that normally writes this blog.

Ghosts of Halloween past

This year, I made a preemptive strike at Halloween by taking my kids to Party America well before their selection of overpriced holiday garb was picked clean. This was a major splurge, mind you. Normally we’re a homemade costume kind of family. Though one year I did wander in to grab something before a painfully unfestive company party and was forced to fight for costume dregs. There were grown men and women scrapping like feral children in a Mad Max movie—sadly most of them came away with just enough wigs and tights to cobble together a hobo-clown-ballerina…thing.

But this year, while wandering the store looking at costumes, I was asked, “may I help you?” by no less than five store clerks. (Part of the joy of shopping with four children is that we're often mistaken for a Peruvian shoplifting ring). And each time, my answer was, “Yes, what the heck happened to Halloween?”

With that in mind, here are some observations on a once beloved holiday:

Pimp-or-Treat
My youngest son, a cute little 8-year old, decided he wanted to be a pimp this year. How he came to this decision, I do not know. All I can say is he looked darn cute with that purple hat, gold cane and furry cape. I might have gone for it, but then he asked, “Dad, what is a pimp?”  Dumbfounded, I redirected him to the Jango Fett costumes as my 10-year old daughter bailed me out by saying, “It’s just a blingin’ dude.” (Note to self, have MTV disconnected tomorrow).

Uniforms instead of costumes
Okay, I can almost go for the school uniform thing. In fact, my budget is all in favor of it. But when did it become forbidden to wear your costume to school? What Bizarro World of political correctness are we living in? Granted, I live in a red state, but…come…on. Half the fun was wearing your costume to school. Having a costume contest. A costume parade. A class party. Or has it all been banned because it’s Halloween everyday to goth kids?

Harvest what?
I’m far to young to sound like a curmudgeonly old man, but honestly, what happened to the school Halloween party? If you see it, would you tell it we miss it. School Halloween carnivals out here on the hinterland have been replaced by a Harvest Party. No costumes. No haunted house. Nada. (See Bizzaro World above).

Hoochie Halloween
When looking at the costumes for grown ups, one thing was strikingly apparent. If you’re a woman over, oh say, 18, you’ve got a wide variety of costumes to choose from. You can be a slutty nurse, a slutty devil, a slutty pirate, a slutty vampire, a slutty cop, or a slutty nun. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just wondering, when did scary become skanky?

Linus is still waiting
Does anyone still watch It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown? It came out before I was born but was still a staple of my childhood. In an era of 24/7 cartoons, this Peanuts classic must seem hopelessly quaint. But, I still love it.

And lastly, while we’re kicking around Halloween memories, what was your favorite costume growing up? Mine was dressing up as Peter Criss from Kiss, in the 5th grade. My grandma sewed my jumpsuit using only the Destroyer album cover as a reference.

My mom wouldn't let me be a pimp either.