OOGIE BOOGIE CENTRAL - Featuring Steve's Vent

Jesus, take me now. I’ve seen everything. Several times a week, I receive solicitations from authors hoping to get their book(s) carried in my store.  While I’m a big believer in self-promotion, I’ve discovered that (as in any other endeavor) there’s a right way and a wrong way to approach it, and the differences between these two methods are small, but significant. Two years ago, at the World Horror Convention in Phoenix AZ, I spent an afternoon drinking and sermonizing about the ins and outs of the book business, concentrating on what grabs my attention as a manager and a merchandiser.  Some highlights included: If you send me a letter, make sure to follow the basic, minimum tenets of Strunk & White.  If you can’t write a simple letter, why should I believe you can write anything else? Always get a wedge of lime for your Corona. It just doesn’t taste right without it. Never call a bookstore and promote a fictitious appearance or media interview just to ge...

There are times when I’m ready to quit.  Really.  Chuck this frustrating, maddening, consuming avocation and find some shaggy hedges to prune.  Or patterns to sew.  Or cakes to decorate.  Something –anything- other than the constant keyboard pounding that only serves to keep the levees of my mind from breaking in a Katrina-like flood. Eventually, I get over it. Usually, I’m recharged by reading or watching something that inspires me, and I’m not talking about Dr. Phil or Oprah.  There are a lot of talented storytellers out there, but only a few that can break the doldrums and push me back in front of the keyboard. Tonight, I’ve added Shane Ryan to that short list. We all loved Dirty Harry; he did the things we wanted to but couldn’t.  We all loved John McClane; he was a maverick that wouldn’t kowtow to the system or the pricks that ran it.   Burke’s a thief and a con-man, but he has a mission that mitigates...

Since THEY come here every day –twice a day- I thought I’d give THEM something to make their visits worthwhile. There are many pharmaceutical solutions for paranoia and martyr complexes. These new wonder drugs can allow those with afflictions such as yours to live nearly normal lives (or what would pass for normal in your world). There can be some risk of sexual side effects, but really, that’s not much of a concern, is it? For the rest of you, keep on keeping on. But Then Again, You’ll Have This . . .

I didn’t do anything yesterday. After crawling out of bed, I alternated between sitting in the recliner and lying on the couch, surfing the web and staring at the television. I hugged my daughter. I ate dinner. I smoked. I watched the clock, and remembered. I remembered the room. I remembered the people. I remembered leaving the hospital and sitting in the car, frozen in time and space between the man I had been when I arrived and the man I’d be once I left. I considered the mistakes I made in the aftermath and wondered how things might have turned out if I was as smart as I pretend to be. And I watched the clock. Eventually 10:39 PM came. I marked the occasion in silence. The minute seemed to last forever, a lifetime compressed into sixty seconds. The irony didn’t escape my notice. I remember, even if I remember alone. My arms were the only ones to cradle him. My lips were the only ones to kiss him. Is it any wonder then that I mourn in solitude? I used to call her every ...

Happy Birthday Alexander. Daddy loves you.

This morning it occurred to me (in the bathroom, the birthplace of many important realizations) that I should clarify the origin of the post immediately below. The following is fiction. It does not reflect actual events or portray any persons living or dead. Carry on . . .

On my way to the car this morning, I found a ratty old notebook lying in the alley. There was no name on the cover, and nothing on the pages to indicate ownership. There were small indentations all over the cover, as if someone had chewed on it. The whole thing was bent –almost twisted. I could almost imagine a demented soul wringing their hands while holding it. What was more interesting was what I found inside. Scrawled across the pages (in Hillary Pink Crayola) were copious notes, scribbled in venomous fury. Most of the entries were unintelligible, but I could make some of them out. 6:00 PM – They’re laughing. Laughing! What’s so funny? Who are they laughing at now? Is it me? I bet it’s me. 6:23 PM – I heard a pot clink against a skillet. Cooking again. That’s so like them. “We’re too good for drive-thru and pizza delivery.” HAH! 7:01 PM – Dick Cheney is kind of sexy. 7:45 PM – They’re using the steps again. What’s so important up there? 8:22 PM – I’m trying to match the sound o...

It occurs to me that the new Vent format, location and incoming links (thank you Mr. Konrath ) may have brought new visitors to the site. If you’re a recent arrival, I thought you might enjoy this little blast from the past. If you’ve been around for a while, you might enjoy reading it again anyway. So, here’s a little number I like to call: Don't Call Me Darling... In my day job, I talk to a lot of people. I speak to customers at the counter, converse with folks on the phone and have long thoughtful discussions with my staff (which shouldn't be confused with my house-bound staff discussions, which occur more frequently the older I get and tend to cross the boundary of discussion and venture into pleading, but that's a different Vent). I consider myself a gregarious person-a reasonable classification when one considers the number of book buyers who loiter about my store hoping to catch one of my frequent discourses on the nature of insanity- but lately I find myself grimaci...

January, my favorite month. As far away from Ch- (nope, still not going to say the word) as you can get.  Things get back to normal, and there’s time to breathe and more importantly . . . . . . write. Just received a chunk of a collaboration I’m doing with a WELL-KNOWN AUTHOR (trust me, but I don’t want to name drop) and I’m trying to figure out what the next chunk is.   Legerdemain is at 40,000 words and climbing and there are two queries out for Oogie Boogie Bounce . The Vent I promised a while back is coming, but I need to decide the best way to present it.  One must be careful when dealing with cowards, especially psychotic cowards.  Rage is good, venting is great, but sometimes short-term gratification isn’t worth long-term repercussions. But it’s coming (hopefully around the same time the psychotic cowards are going).  Bet on it. After all, I never let proximity stop me before. But Then Again, You’ll Have This . . .

It’s over. Thank God. We did the Christmas Eve family thing, the Christmas Day family thing and the Day After Christmas work thing, but today the family and I did the let’s stay in bed till Noon thing immediately followed by the laze around the house all day thing. That’s a lot of things. Almost everything worked the way it was designed; the sole exception being the set of speakers my father purchased instead of the Surround Sound system I requested.  Blame it on an over-zealous, under-trained salesman and my Dad’s unfamiliarity with modern technology, but it’s all good.  That’s why God invented receipts and 30 day return policies. Lex was pleased with her gifts; the Bratz Festival (her description, not mine) satisfied on all levels.  Rhonda liked her DVDs, will like her new Razor phone and should like all her new clothing (that’s a mortal lock because she selected everything before her mom plunked down the charge card). Me?  I’m a happy gamer and...

Yet another thing that sucks about getting older: The steady flow of beloved actors, artists and writers crossing from this world to the next. I hope there are stages and libraries on the other side of the Pearly Gates. But Then Again, You'll Have This . . .

Suddenly, I understand. It’s not the aches, pains or old man sounds I emit at the slightest movement. It’s not the grey in my beard or the chrome on my dome. It’s not my oldest son crossing that final threshold to adulthood tomorrow (Happy Birthday Nate) or my youngest son’s continuing struggle toward the same. It’s this: Gorgeous, isn’t she? In less than a month, she’ll be 10 years old. Double digits baby, and we all know what that means. Pre-teen is the technical term, but there’s nothing technical about dealing with a young lady. Technically, the same applies to dealing with any lady, but that’s a different Vent. Thanks to a convergence in weather and work, I have a rare Thursday off and was able to attend Lexy’s Holiday Concert, which showcased the burgeoning musical talents of her and her school mates. The preparation phase of today’s performance was interesting, as I watched Lexy choose an outfit and fuss with her hair (which is one of –if not the only- best thing about her devel...

Two weeks and counting and it’s all over but the shouting. Early mornings and late nights; low balances and high bills. It’s beginning to feel a lot like Ch- Uh, uh uh.  You can’t make me say the WORD, and not because of inclusionary, non-denominational political correctness.  I won’t use any of the other words either. People in the mall call me Scrooge, but I quickly point out their error.  I’m not a Scrooge.  I wouldn’t make Bob work on the 25th and I’m quite fond of a hot stove filled with plenty of coals. No, in the twelfth month of every year, I’m struck by the sudden urge to hitch up the dog and head into Whoville. Peace?  Joy?  Goodwill to men?  Catch me after 2:00 PM on the twenty-fourth. Until then? You’re a mean one, Mister Grinch. But Then Again, You’ll Have This . . .

Let’s a take a brief peek at what’s coming soon . . . Definitive proof that unprotected, wireless networks are vulnerable to piggybacking, especially when the owner doesn’t realize they’re using one The perils of mega-bass boosting and late-night wall pounding so close to the holidays, especially when a 5.1 Dolby Surround TV Theater system is on Santa’s List The ramifications of playing the Blame Game and alienating your only ally Dancing the dance and paying the piper AND The importance of rear view mirrors and their proper usage All in the space of one VENT! Can’t wait, can you?                    

Once upon a time, there was a Winter Formal that I wanted to attend.  I worked hard to prepare for it.  I studied dance.  I researched proper table manners.  I bought a new suit and coiffed my hair.  I did everything etiquette demanded and eventually deemed myself ready for the party. But I needed a date. You couldn’t get in without a date; that was the unwritten rule.  Sure, a maverick or two might decide to attend stag, but they were usually ridiculed for their presumption.  In fact, coming alone usually guaranteed you’d never get a date again, at least not with any of the desirable women. I made my intentions known.  I declared myself a willing participant in the dance.  I crafted several carefully prepared invitations and distributed them among the potential partners I deemed most appropriate to my style of celebration. A librarian responded first.  She wasn’t sure, but she thought we...

Tomorrow, the mall opens at 6 AM.  That means I’ll be up at 4 to be in the store by 5.  Black Friday isn’t the asylum it used to be, but it’s still the opening bell in the mad rush to Christmas. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the Christmas season?  All I want for Christmas is a new book deal (and an Xbox 360). Wonder which gift I have a better chance of finding under the tree. I’ll be happy again in January.  Count on it.  Till then, light those candles. But Then Again, You’ll Have This. . .

Today –two days before Thanksgiving and three days before the start of Hell Month- I finally uncovered a major contributing factor to my hatred of the holiday season. Seasonal employees. We do more business during December than any month of any year that doesn’t have a Potter in it, and more business necessitates more employees.  It’s a simple calculation; no algebra required (thank God, because temporary workers don’t seem to have a grasp of mathematics more complex than counting to ten [twenty if they’re not wearing shoes or twenty-one if they’re male and naked]).  With unemployment as prevalent as it is, one would think the labor pool would be as deep and wide as the Atlantic Ocean, but one would be mistaken.  The Workforce Sea has the circumference of a thimble and the depth of a shot glass. And that’s being kind. Maybe it’s the Welfare Culture.  Maybe people are so accustomed to receiving a check that the idea of actually earning their check ...

Just in case some of you don’t realize it, the Vents are satire, especially the one directly below.  I figured a format change deserved an appropriate topic, and what’s more appropriate than a Vent about Blogging? The new setting is an experiment only, to determine the viability of HTML-free Venting and possibly allow more for more frequent entries.  Plus, all the cool kids are doing it. Peer pressure.  You’ve got to love it. But Then Again, You’ll Have This . . .    

Here’s the thing. I purchased my first modern PC in 1996.  By modern, I mean a computer with a little pointy/clicky thing and the ability to display pictures not composed of asterisks, parenthesis and other punctuation marks.  My first computer was a Radio Shack Model 4P (and the P stands for Portable, which means the beast came with a handle, a necessary option for toting a 30 pound behemoth). But let’s stay in the Nineties, shall we. The first thing I did with my PC –after playing the requisite number of Solitaire hands and nurturing my inner artist with Microsoft Paint- was connect to the Internet.  Then, I searched for boobies, which didn’t take long, because as we all know, the Web is teeming with naked mammary glands.  I like breasts.  I like their symmetry.  I like their asymmetry.  I like them au natural , both in presentation and composition, but this isn’t a Vent about breasts.  We’re talking about...