Archive for the ‘Podcasts’ Category

The Old Diabetic in Candyland Podcast

Some of my new friends at Facebook and Twitter may not know I produced and wrote a podcast version of this blog. This was a fun project but took hours of dedication and care.

Below are links to the old podcasts. Pass along and enjoy.

All Podcasts:

DIC #32 The DragonCon 09 Report

DIC #31 – Introducing the Variable

DIC #30 – Only One Recession Rant Missing

DIC #29 Tripping the Seattlelite Fantastic

DIC #28.5 – A Letter to My FutureMe

DIC #28 – Tripping the Seattlelite Fantastic

DIC #27 – Doin’ the Damn Thing

DIC #26 – Recession Rants and Rages with Summer

DIC #25 – Deface the Music

DIC #24 – Welfare Christmas

DIC #23 – Evie Man In Love

DIC #22 – Hand…Delivered

DIC #21 – The DragonCon 08 Report

DIC #20 – All Over the Road with Rick Quentin

DIC #19 – Surfing the Recession

DIC #18 – Surfing the Recession

DIC #17 Brushes with Fame

DIC #16 – The Lose In #2

DIC #15 – Is This Thing On?

DIC #14 – The Lose In – Live Call-In Show

DIC #13 – I’m Psychic and My Mind Goes Back in Time

DIC #12 – Hollywood – Need I Say More?

DIC #11 – Dishdogs – RELEASE THE BRAIN SNAILS

DIC #10 – The Hearts of Many Grow Cold

DIC #9 – Justice for Ricky Shore

DIC #8 – Expensive Baloney, Part 2

DIC #7 – That Was Some Expensive Baloney, Part 1.

DIC #6 – A Cubicle Carol

DIC #5 – Face on the Bar Room Floor

DIC #4 – Ineptitude Abroad

DIC 3 – Thank You For Applying

DIC 2 – Fart Proudly

DIC 1 – Maiden Show

The Story So Far and Peckish Gators

I have made it to the 70% mark of the book. I have heard many analogies and metaphors for the rigors of long projects. I prefer to recall my own personal challenges from the past and compare them.

About eight years ago, I got some strange notion that I should go canoeing in the Myakka River in Florida. At the canoe rental office, the cashier asked me if I would prefer a kayak. The kayak cost $35 more and I didn’t want to pay for something I was going to use for two hours. I could get a hotel room for that price. Come to think of it, some people do use hotels for an hour, but that usually involved tabloids and vice cops.

I should have rented the freakin’ kayak.

I launch my canoe and I sit astern and start rowing into middle of the river. So far, the rustling of cattails and the lapping of water put my nervous soul at peace. I reached the middle of the river and the canoe became harder to control and steer. The river’s currents had caught me in its grasp and it was like rowing in sand.  I would paddle to the right but the canoe’s bow wouldn’t move with me.

I exhausted myself trying to control the canoe, and I lost balance and capsized. As I broke the water’s surface I saw the rigged back of an alligator floating several yards from me. Usually, alligators aren’t fond of human flesh, and I hoped this gator had already fed.

I managed to walk the canoe to the shallows and pulled myself back inside. A pair of canoers noticed my situation and paddled toward me.  “You need to sit in the middle,” a woman said. I scooted toward the middle of the canoe and knelt.  As I started paddling, I had more control of the canoe since I had put the center of gravity in the middle. I paddled back to the launch point.

I’ve capsized three or four times in the progress of this novel. I’ve been forced to scrap two chapters of which I think contained the best prose I have ever written. I launched into this project with two oars but no idea how to steer. I  had no plan on how to navigate unforseen swells, currents and peckish gators. A little planning would have saved me a lot of time.

The next novel project I will begin with an outline, a synopsis and research before “Chapter 1″ gets inked.  However, I have am scheduled to have the next draft complete by July 15.

“I Love it” That’s What the Agent Said!!

Today, I had a pitch session with an agent at The Atlanta Writers Conference. I had expected a hard sell, but after my delivery the agent said he loved it.  I feel like Charlie Brown after kissing the Red Headed Girl. Did that really just happen?

Now the hard work begins. I have a half-completed young adult novel called The Rapture Express to complete. I will send sample chapters within the week.  For now on, my first job is writing. Everything else is just rent.

I’m starting to come back to normal gravity now. Getting an agent interested in your work is just one obstacle among many surreal twists and turns toward a published novel. To borrow a video game analogy, I’m at Level 2 in Super Mario Bros. I may get a chance to warp to the upper levels, but I still have a long ways before rescuing Princess Peach.

I will give more details once I have secure a copyright, but I will say it involves clowns, KISS, Paul Lynde and flatulence.

10 Things the Recession Taught Me

About a month ago, I decided that it was time to call the Recession over. In response, the mainstream media and economists agreed and the Dow Jones surged 100 points.

Oh, recession. It’s been a bittersweet affair,but it’s time to take your chronic risk aversion, fear and dread somewhere else, along with your eight cats.

I have learned a few things, among them:

1. Being broke sucks. If I hear about how an ex-CEO or other high paid professional exclaim how much happier they are now, I may torch a Whole Foods store. Suddenly unburdened from their salary and benefits, they’ve learned to enjoy free-range organic hamburger instead of Kobe Steak and to get to know that family they didn’t know they had. There is nothing romantic about poverty, especially when your mortgage is overdue and you’re repairing everything, clothing, furniture, flesh wounds, with duct tape.
2. I was happier when I had money. It feels good to pay rent a week early, and still have enough money to go on a road trip or go on a DVD shopping spree. Although shelling out $500 to treat your diabetic cat is inconvenient, you’re not choosing between rent or a live cat.
3. I have a legit reason to hate rich people. The WSJ says the mortgage meltdown is poor people’s fault, but who gave them the mortgage? The Wall Street douches who bundled mortgages, then stacked more bundled mortgages on top of that, then battered and deep fried them, then served them as appetizers at their parties are at fault. Remember, these guys are smarter than me and the Free Market works for my benefit, even when the “invisible hand” is begging for bailout money from taxpayers.  Anyone who thinks differently should start humming the Internationale and reading Chomsky.
4. Community grills rule. My condo community has one by the pool and I got my money’s worth from my association fees. Even if I just grilled two hot dogs, I was using the ‘community’ gas, not mine.
5. Heavy Metal Rules. I wasted my teen years listening to synth rock and The Smiths. Youtube.com has just about every great aneurysm inducing metal video, including Judas Priest, Metallica and Warrant. Metal rules because no one plays air synthesizers.
6. Depression can be fun. Sitting around, unshaven for days, watching Family Ties reruns doesn’t cost a thing. Also I found old DOS days video games like Duke Nukem and Doom II and played them till the hard drive smoked. If self-pity was an Olympic sport, I’d get the Bronze Medal because life is cruel and unfair.
7. Be nice to people in retail/service industry. I had to do a stint at GameStop during the Christmas season. I thought it would be fun, but having to deal with customers having power hissies over why we don’t  have Gears of War a day before the BUSIEST SHOPPING SEASON OF THE YEAR takes patience and understanding. I have neither, but I came out respecting anyone who deals with the needs of the human species.
8. Sometimes a good cry makes you feel better. However, don’t have a crying jag in Publix or during a job interview. Trust me.
9. Don’t let go of your dream. Stalk it. Have a “chance meeting” with it at the Starbucks or at its workplace. Rent an apartment across from its home and tape its every movement. Ignore the restraining order. Run it down till it collapses out of breath and submits to you willingly.
10. God cares about your problems, everyone else doesn’t give a rats ass. God is a great listener, but for His sake stop bludgeoning your friends with your problems. People would rather listen to a skipping CD of Yodel to the Hits.

Brush with Fame: Malcom McLaren

With the passing of rock impresario Malcom McLaren, I recalled when I met him and offended him.  Below is the text from a podcast about my misadventures with the famous.

Podcast link: http://www.diabeticincandyland.com/2008/06/08/dic-17-brushes-with-fame/

Prague, 1994

In the summer of 1994 I worked as a barback at Radost FX, an exclusive disco in Prague. Yes, in Europe they call it a disco without a sneer of irony. This was the kind of place designed to keep people like me far behind the velvet rope. Yet, the generous Serbian couple that owned the place allowed all well-behaved staff to attend any function.

That summer Malcolm McLaren held his launch party for his album Paris in the disco. McLaren put the Sex Pistols into the public eye with the subtlety of a shot of mace. By then, he had moved onto his own projects, yet his contorversial presence made the event. I trudged my way downstairs, past the two Serbian doormen each with glock 9mm’s holstered on their belts. In the main bar, techno music raced and chugged and the waiters carried trays of champagne in thin, test tube like glasses, all dressed in orange dayglow southern belle hoop skirts embroidered with Christmas lights. The crowd were either dressed in smart suits and dresses or like me, in whatever rags I could stitch together after crawling out of a junkie den on all fours.

The Australian woman I had crush on, her hair in that girlish bob and who treated everyone like she was their #1 fan, stood at the far end of the bar. She was old enough to be my mother, which fascinated me even more. Her equally beautiful daughter worked in the coffee bar, yet she lacked the grace and sweetness of her mother. So I walked up and she turned to me, her bob swishing in my direction and smiled, put her arms on my shoulders and stood on her toes and kissed my cheek. I turned into a warm puddle on the floor. We talked some and McLaren’s entourage floated around the disco on currents of curiosity. Then I saw his bright red fro and hawkish face look toward the Australian Goddess and his entourage floated toward her like a school of tuna spotting fresh prawns. He stepped up to her, introduced himself and started talking to her. I turned to the bar and ordered two Pilsner Urquells then drank them before they turned bitter-warm.

What I did next was witnessed trough a haze of beer foam, but I sidled next to the Australian Goddess and tired to stake a claim. The C-block is likened to a military maneuver – it can be either a sniper shot or an air strike. I think I went for the carpet bomb and insulted him somehow and he turned away from us and herd him squeak “Cunt” as his entourage floated away. My Australian goddess slipped away into the crowd and I didn’t see her again that night.

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