Welcome, New Reader

Today we actually welcome a new reader here at El Burro Volador, and I thought it might be nice to have an “orientation” of sorts, complete with links to helpful or memorable posts.  First and foremost, I should probably mention that not everything you read here should be taken as gospel.  A fine example of this is my biography on the “About” page.

In addition, I’ve been hard at work grouping old posts into categories, which you can find down at the bottom of the page.    “A Day in the Life” is a series that attempts to look at a typical day in my existence (read the posts from the bottom-most to the top-most to get my day in order, or read from the top down to go through it backwards, whee!), while the “Clementine” category collects the – ahem – dramatized exploits of my tiny and much-loved Boston Terrier.  I also have grouped my writing on books and movies into categories, so they are more easily avoided.

Hmm, what else is there to say?  I guess you could always check out the “Light Bulb Saga” (be sure to start at the bottom of that string of posts and read toward the top) which was my longest story – I think it’s good for some laughs, though it probably dragged on too long.

Finally, on the off chance that you are interested in this blog as a journal or record of my experience as opposed to the sort of “variety show” I typically try to mix into it, the place to be is the “Life in General” category.

That’s about all I can think of.  Hey, readers, are there any favorite posts you’d especially like to bring to the attention of the new fellow?

I’d Like to Thank the Academy

It turns out that if you put a lot of celebrity names on your site, your traffic will double.  All those poor, sad little perverts searching keywords “Meryl Streep and burro”…

Anyhow, the latest news here is that Rebek is down with a flu-like virus.  She couldn’t keep food down for a good chunk of yesterday, and she ran a pretty stiff temperature for much of the night.  In keeping with my established position, I will blame Phoebe (and possibly the little incubation-pods Rebekah teaches all day long).  Right now, Phoebe is maximum-pissed, due to the whole divorce/cessation-of-free-ride thing.  In her world, Merlyn must resemble his namesake, because he has all but vanished from Phoebedom at this point.  Abbey, too, is a great distance from the scene of the action, which is doubtless not the unadulterated blessing for her that it would be for a selfish fellow like me.  In short, they are both out of the line of fire.  Rebekah works with Phoebe.

Under normal circumstances, ‘Bekah finds this trying, as Phoebe is capable of demonstrating the ruthlessly selfish mindset and predatory cunning of a wolverine.  These days, however, the wolverine has been caught in the cruel steel jaws of a bear-trap.  It is nearly out of its mind with pain and fury.  Rebekah is sitting under the same tree.  The wolverine can reach her lap.

No wonder her immune system has quit under the truly staggering amounts of stress.

Surreal

Today has been very surreal.  I think it may be something internal.  Regardless, I will take a whack at finishing up my next big post either this evening or tomorrow morning, so stay tuned…

Y’know…

Sometimes I feel like writing this blog has made me a sloppier, lazier writer.  I mean, trying to write and publish things every day makes it easier to just pour out some prose,  say “that’s good enough,” and hit the “publish” button.  Accordingly, I am working on a couple of posts that I think could be really good ones, but they are also somewhat labor-intensive, so I may not finish them for a couple of days.  Please bear with me.

An Avian Invasion…

…of sorts.

I plan on writing about writing today, but a bird will be mentioned.  After yesterday’s shocking developments in the donkeys vs. birds controversy, it almost seems like I am switching sides…

Before digging into the main matter of today’s post, however, there are a couple of niggling things to clear up.  First, it has been pointed out that there was a rather egregious typing error in yesterday’s post.  Luckily, by the time it was pointed out I had already caught it myself and fixed it.  I actually encourage the reporting of typos, but I myself am fairly good about rereading recent posts and catching them.  Occasionally I will go back and work on word choice or other things as well.  The first draft goes up, and is sometimes replaced by a second draft later in the same day.  I usually don’t bother with older stuff, unless there was something that really bothered me.

The other matter upon which clarification has been requested is my claims of fact-checking.  Admittedly, I don’t have investigative reporters on the ground or anything, but I did check multiple internet sources, so I’m doing approximately as well as Fox News…

Okay, on to the ostensible purpose of today’s post, which is to talk about Flaubert’s Parrot by Julian Barnes.  This was ‘Bekah’s annual Valentine’s Day book selection for me, and she did a good job.  It is a very writerly book, however, and in addition is largely about a writer, so it is really a “bookworms only” type of novel.  I had not read Barnes before, but he has done such an excellent job with this book that I expect I shall want to read him again.

The novel is like one of those dance performances where the dancers’ movements are so perfectly synchronized that you begin to think of them as one organism.  Every detail, every revelation is perfectly placed, perfectly integrated, in a way that is only possible through long, careful toil, but which invariably seems natural and easy to the reader.  This is real talent, though I think one reviewer’s linking of Barnes with Joyce may be a bit of a stretch.

Flaubert himself was the perfect subject for a novel like this, as much of his personal correspondence has survived and is, in fact, his true masterpiece as a writer, his excellent novel Madame Bovary notwithstanding.

Forecast: Chance of Lazy

I am currently pouring most of my creative energy into a big project, so I will be taking things easy on the blog this week.  Also, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to lighten things up around here after the bleak and ugly end of last week.  You can expect to see a few “Lines I Wish I’d Written” posts this week, but I’ll try to sit and write a bit in a couple days.

Tuesday – Lines I Wish I’d Written

Wednesday – Lightfoot Fetish

Thursday – More Lines I Wish I’d Written

Friday – What the Big Deal Is

Saturday – At the End of The Day

Sunday – Valentine’s Day Massacre

The Meme-Killer

A few days ago, Dylan (the lucky stiff who married my darling sister Sarah) posted this on his blog.  It is apparently a new meme here on the net, and as I am not a terrible sport I’ve decided to play along halfway.  First of all, I barely know seven blogs to “tag”, and since Dylan is one of them (and since he also tagged about half the others), I am out of luck as far as being able to pass this on – guess I’m still “it”.

I have decided to obey the “seven things” part of the game, however, using it as an excuse to fill out the “About” section of my blog.  You can check that out now (well, in 20 minutes from the “now” in which I’m writing at any rate) and there will totally be something there for a change.

High Rate of Attrition

Last week’s schedule, like so many of its brethren, was defenestrated almost immediately.  It is a common fate for schedules here at El Burro Volador, and yet, the plucky little fellows keep stepping forward every Monday, hoping that they’ll be the lucky one that makes it.  Why, here comes one of the little guys now.  If he seems to look a lot like his immediate predecessor, it’s because a lot of those same ideas are still bouncing around over here.

Tuesday – Bourne Again

Wednesday – Golden Oldies

Thursday – Unforgiveness

Friday – Miscellany

Saturday – At the Closing of the Day

Sunday – Guitar Heroism

A Change of Plans…

So I’m re-purposing this post a little bit.  Instead of writing about books, I’m going to write about…writing; specifically, the type of writing I do in this blog.

I suppose the major literary influence on this blog’s style would be the Latin American Trilogy of Louis De Bernieres.  These books occupy the genre known as “magical realism”, a genre which has been best defined as “a kind of heightened reality in which elements of the miraculous could appear while seeming natural and unforced”.  As a pure style, this writing is perhaps nowhere better exemplified than the works of Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  De Bernieres blends elements of satire into his trilogy, exaggerating the banal and the corrupt aspects of the world as well.

I have taken another step or so in this direction, mostly exaggerating the idiocy and the dysfunctional elements of my own life and mostly forgetting about the sublime elements which characterize the writings of the authors I mentioned above.  Since I don’t really focus this exaggeration into any type of political or social criticism, instead just playing for laughs, I suppose I’ve descended from satire to plain old farce.

Anyhow, Rebekah, who knew that our dryer had not been working all that well of late, read my account of its fiery demise yesterday and assumed that I was just exaggerating.  The sad truth is that, writing so soon after the event (literally just minutes after), I lacked the perspective which I require to generate an attempt at humor: yesterday’s version was, as ‘Bekah was to discover, the unadorned truth.  Had I wanted to exaggerate yesterday’s mini-catastrophe, it would have read more like this:

“…so after taking Clem to the Collieseum for the day I went to check the laundry and found that it was still not warm, though perhaps a little less damp.  “Oh, well,” I thought, slamming the dryer door closed “I suppose they’ll tumble-dry if we leave them in there long enough.”  I flipped the start switch and headed for the door, only to take a sudden detour through the wall as our dryer exploded in the kind of detonation you feel rather than hear, flinging twisted fragments of metal, gouts of searing flame, and a pretty #@&%ing astonished me into the cat/guest bathroom next door.

For a moment I lay stunned and singed upon the cold linoleum, enjoying the blissful grogginess you get from really good, unexpected head trauma.  Then, shaking the fuzziness from my head and rubbing the drywall plaster out of my eyes, I sat up and investigated my surroundings.  Near me lay Gypsy, sprawled limply halfway out of a litter box.  I scrambled towards him, afraid for a second that he was dead.  As I reached him, however, I noticed that his capacious sides rose and fell steadily and concluded that he must have passed out from sheer fright.

A couple of swift slaps brought Gypsy around, and a couple more did a great deal to relieve the tension I was feeling.  Staggering out of the wreckage of the cat room, I went in search of Cleo…”

Coming Attractions

I’ve decided to write a preview of what I will be posting about each week.  I did that a while back, and I noticed that it helped me focus a little bit more, so I’m going to give it a try from now on.  I meant for it to be every Monday, but yesterday it seemed like ‘Bekah’s brush with the law took precedence.

So here goes:

Tomorrow: Christmas eve!  I’d like to post a story about my father and I at work.  It cracks me up, but who knows if anyone else will find it funny…

Christmas: I’ll probably cop out and just write “Merry Christmas” or something…

Friday: I’ll still be excited from seeing all my loved ones, so I’ll just relive Christmas.

Saturday: It’s been a while since I’ve done a “Day in the Life” piece, so I’ll pick it up with an account of life in the sulfur mines.

Sunday: Maybe its time for a “Year in Review” piece.  Right now I’m thinking of trying to keep this upbeat, but I guarantee nothing: it’s been a rough year in some respects.