Wednesday, Sept. 7, 2005:
This morning, I talked with a woman who lives in Petite Anse, the slum in Cap that floods. She tells me she lives there with hope that life will improve. “You have to look for life where it is. Only God knows if it will get better.”
When we arrived, traversing through the muck, winding our way around the houses to her home, she was sitting in the shade on a milk carton, breastfeeding the baby. Her little girl was sitting on a small wooden stool near her mother. The house is made as the others are, from twigs and cement stuffed into the chinks like a log cabin.
Her little girl starts crying. The boy lifts her into his lap to comfort her. He is a good big brother, taking care of her as the mother talks with us. We go inside the house. Ben is taking photos. She sits on the bed. She is a soft-spoken, articulate woman who is friendly, but she doesn’t smile a lot. I guess she has nothing to smile about. She tells us that when the baby cries at night, she lights up the hurricane lamp at night. The keroscene costs for the lamp costs more than a day’s wages. As she is talking, the priest’s cell chirps. It sings and chirps like an annoyed parakeet, an odd sound in this crammed space of babies crying and adults murmuring in Creole.
Inside it is airless, humid and stifling. The whole ceiling is lined with blue and white plastic to catch the dripping rain. The rain is the least of her worries. The tidal surges during storms are far worse.
“My biggest fear is for my children is the flooding, that the water will take my children away and they will drown,” she tells me.
We talk with some others and then take off for another section of Petite Anse. At the space where the driver parked the truck, a small group of UN soldiers walk past, patrolling the area. Their badges indicate they are from Chile. Ben chit chats in broken Spanish with them. He discovers they are here only two months and they spend at least half a day walking around this area. They say it is very quiet. We like hearing it’s quiet. Quiet is good. One soldier takes his water hose, attached to the canteen strapped on his back, and squirts water into the mouths of the delighted children. It’s brutally hot.
We walk along the shore, water lapping upon the sand, seeing more and more houses just like the one we left. And talk to more people.
5:30 p.m. Back at the hotel and leaving again. We are heading back to Petite Anse to see if the mom of the two orange-haired kids is back from the market.
I honestly don’t know what it is… that has left me feeling so numb this week… maybe I’ve just been doing this kind of work far too long or maybe it’s the grinding poverty I see time and again … I told myself before I came here that no one truly cares what happens… and part of me feels that is indeed true. And yet that is no excuse for me not to care and not to do my job. Sometimes I feel like I am a scribe writing in the wilderness. The trash-hewn streets, the pot bellied children with their blank stares, the oppressive heat and brutal sun, blaring horns, bleating goats, shouting voices, screeching music…does anyone really care?
The priest says the houses we have built already in this city are like a drop of water, but drops combined with other drops do make an ocean.
So what do I do? Can I in good conscience ignore the sufferings of a child who is in obvious need? God gave me a talent to write and help raise money for these people and put me here. I think he put me here for a reason this week… In a way I am sort of a translator of poverty… Do I turn my back on all this…and walk away? Can I turn my back on all this and walk away? What is the answer? I have none for now.
6:30 p.m. I have the answer. It’s a little boy. He is two years old and severely malnourished.
Thursday, Sept. 8, 2005
6:15 a.m.
Sunrise over the flat ocean in Cap Haitian. I am sitting outside my hotel room looking at pink streaks of sun glinting off the shimmering ice blue ocean. About 1 million mosquitoes have decided I am lonely and joined me. There is music playing in the restaurant downstairs and the sound of silverware being set out for breakfast.
To me Haiti is all about sound. This morning, it’s the quiet raspy tones of Creole, the whump of lumber being unloaded, the clink of ice against glass, the huffing of joggers running down the waterfront street. The whirl of a bicycle passing. Slam of a car door. Metal tunes of brass playing on the stereo downstairs.
In the slums there is a different orchestra playing. Children chattering, grown ups murmuring, the wail of a hungry baby, the slush of the water lapping at the shore, the shuffling of feet in the sand, the slosh of legs moving through water, the sucking sound of feet lifted in and out of thick, fermenting mud.
Yesterday when we returned to Petite Anse, the ocean breeze had shifted. It was thicker and pungent, heavy and swamp laden. In the morning it is fresh, as if blowing in a brand new start to a hopeful day. At day’s end it is thick, sluggish and oppressive, veiling the slum with an oily coat of air. As if it too, has resigned itself to yet another day awash in misery and hunger.
But tomorrow, there is always fresh hope. And another cooling ocean breeze.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Friday, September 09, 2005
Haiti, part deux
This is the toddler we had transported to medical help. The good news is he received free medicine, food, and medical help. The bad news is, there are thousands more like him.
I don't want to think about them. I'll think about this one that has a fighting chance. I tell myself, big deal. I had not much to do with it. So why do I still keep doing this? Why?
Because how can I, in good conscience, ignore this child? What kind of person am I if I turn my back on his silent cry for help?
I need to hide from the world for a while to lick my emotional wounds. Usually I return from Haiti, and seeing the worst of the worst, again and again, and can take refuge in routine.
I saw this slum and it reminded me of the graphic images of New Orleans. A city under water. A slum that floods each day. The people have nowhere else to go. 
This is this little boy's house. Each day the tide washes in sea water up to his door. Four times a year at least, storms flood the community so much that people flee their houses, fearing for their kids. They take refuge in the local school until the water recedes.
No one should have to live like this. It's inhuman.
My return to "normal" life now is disturbed by images of refugees in my own damn country, by dramatic stories of suffering here in my backyard, of lives lost and homes and property. I leave a country of suffering and return to a country of suffering. I need to shut down my computer, turn off my television and retreat for a while.
A long while.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Haiti
Back from Cap Haitien, in Port-au-Prince. Country is very quiet now, a refreshing change of pace. Unreal poverty we saw this week... homes built on a mangrove swamp by the sea that flood twice a day at high tide. Yet the people remain because they are desperate. "I have nowhere else to go," this one woman told me. The women told me they get terrified of the water during storms and pray their children won't drown in their own houses.
I got this chill down my spine when she told me that.
We saw some malnourished children including this one baby that was horribly malnourished. I'd say stage three. We came back to a house at about 6 to see if a mother was home and she wasn't and suddenly Ben swears. He rarely swears. I turn around and he says quietly, "Look at that baby."
OMG. The baby was two years old, huge pot belly from parasites, and his ribs were sticking out. His short-cropped hair was orange. He had matchstick legs and arms. A walking skeleton. The mother wasn't home but we talked with the father. We made a promise to come back this morning before our plane left for Cap Haitien, so we could visit with the mother.
We did... and took photos, interviewed the mom and then promptly told her to dress the baby and come with us, we were taking her and the child to a hospital. She accompanied us, walking along the sands back to the truck. Sat in the truck, the baby started fussing. She had said they hadn't anything to eat yet. The baby cries all night. He's been sick for three months. Her greatest fear was her son was going to die. She knew how sick he was.
Before we told her we were taking her son to the hospital, she told me, "I've been praying for money to get him to the hospital. I ask God, God, can you please protect us and protect the baby. I don't know why this is happening to us, but please can you do something?"
Today, he did something. He sent us. It's ironic. Yesterday as we are driving to Petite Anse, as this beachfront area is called, I was mentally questioning why I have done this kind of work for 12 years. It makes me weary, sometimes very depressed, and drained of energy. As we are driving in the car, I asked God, is it time for me to quit and chuck it all in and do something else for a career? Am I really doing anything good? Then we arrived at Petite Anse and Ben spots the sick baby.
If we hadn't returned to see the mother, we never would have seen the baby. Or gone back this morning. I'm sure the baby would have eventually died. God used us to answer this woman's prayer to send her son to a hospital. I guess he answered my prayer as well.
I got this chill down my spine when she told me that.
We saw some malnourished children including this one baby that was horribly malnourished. I'd say stage three. We came back to a house at about 6 to see if a mother was home and she wasn't and suddenly Ben swears. He rarely swears. I turn around and he says quietly, "Look at that baby."
OMG. The baby was two years old, huge pot belly from parasites, and his ribs were sticking out. His short-cropped hair was orange. He had matchstick legs and arms. A walking skeleton. The mother wasn't home but we talked with the father. We made a promise to come back this morning before our plane left for Cap Haitien, so we could visit with the mother.
We did... and took photos, interviewed the mom and then promptly told her to dress the baby and come with us, we were taking her and the child to a hospital. She accompanied us, walking along the sands back to the truck. Sat in the truck, the baby started fussing. She had said they hadn't anything to eat yet. The baby cries all night. He's been sick for three months. Her greatest fear was her son was going to die. She knew how sick he was.
Before we told her we were taking her son to the hospital, she told me, "I've been praying for money to get him to the hospital. I ask God, God, can you please protect us and protect the baby. I don't know why this is happening to us, but please can you do something?"
Today, he did something. He sent us. It's ironic. Yesterday as we are driving to Petite Anse, as this beachfront area is called, I was mentally questioning why I have done this kind of work for 12 years. It makes me weary, sometimes very depressed, and drained of energy. As we are driving in the car, I asked God, is it time for me to quit and chuck it all in and do something else for a career? Am I really doing anything good? Then we arrived at Petite Anse and Ben spots the sick baby.
If we hadn't returned to see the mother, we never would have seen the baby. Or gone back this morning. I'm sure the baby would have eventually died. God used us to answer this woman's prayer to send her son to a hospital. I guess he answered my prayer as well.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Why, America, WHY?
I am weeping for my country right now
America, why? Why?
Why did three babies in the Superdome have to die from heat exhaustion waiting to be evacuated? Why did a man’s mother have to die in a nursing home, pleading for help from her son for five days until she drowned to death Friday night?
Why are Africans wondering what the hell happened with the post-Katrina disaster?
Why? I want answers. I work for a charity. Yeah, we’re sending help. We’ve got the trucks delivering food, water, other aid. Yeah, we’re praying.
Prayers aren’t enough. I want answers.
In 1992, Hurricane Andrew left south Dade looking like a nuclear explosion. I saw Katie Hale, then director of emergency operations for Dade County, scream on television that she needed the federal troops.
This week, I heard New Orleans mayor do the same thing. Only difference is, the victims of Andrew weren’t trapped in homes and buildings surrounded by rising water, waiting and praying for help.
Help that arrived far too late. Hurricane hit one week ago today. Five days later… the federal troops arrived.
Why wasn’t there a law created AFTER Andrew that sent in federal help IMMEDIATELY after such a disaster? Why? If there’s a law that says the federal government can’t intervene unless asked, because then it is martial law, then who gives a crap? SEND THEM IN. Hello people? There’s going to be lawlessness, shootings, you name it. It’s not rocket science.
Better to send in the military, haul these people’s asses the hell out of there and face criticism later than to let them die. I can’t imagine the horror of that poor woman in the nursing home, waiting and waiting, pleading with her helpless son to get her out of there. And then watching the flood waters rise and rise…and drowning…
And what is it with this blaming the victim crap I keep reading? "Those people in New Orleans should have evacuated. They knew better." Excuse me. If you had NO car, NO money, NO real way of getting out, what would you do?
And the mayor of N.O. himself… he’s not blameless in this. WHY did he issue a mandatory evacuation on SUNDAY when the hurricane was due to HIT MONDAY? Why didn’t he do it on Saturday? Saturday was only a voluntary evacuation. Let me tell you from living in an area where hurricanes hit down here in Florida, there is a BIG difference between a mandatory and a voluntary evacuation. Voluntary you think, "Ok, it's not going to be that bad. Maybe I'll board up."
Mandatory is, "Oh crap, they are serious!"
Did he really think it wasn’t going to be that bad? Why didn't he call in for help for buses to evacuate the poor and marginalized before the hurricane hit?
Let’s do the math… 12 foot levee facing 15-20 foot storm surge… equals…
You’re SOL.
I've heard the stories, how the federal funding for building the levees for New Orleans got cut. Or how this and that and this and that. I’m disgusted with the politicians saying blah blah blah. I’m disgusted with the finger pointing, the photo ops, the horror stories… and most of all…
I’m sick because this should not have happened. They knew what could happen to New Orleans. They knew those levees would not have held. They knew after Hurricane Andrew that local and state governments simply cannot handle the overwhelming magnitude of a catastrophic hurricane.
Why wasn’t a plan formed? Haul in the troops immediately after a hurricane to restore order. The police can’t do it (many are dead). Call it martial law. Who cares if it means lives are saved?
I’m weeping and disgusted because I work for a charity and the disaster I saw a year ago in Haiti, after 2,000 died from flooding from Hurricane Jeanne, is going to be nothing compared to this. Because I live in the greatest country in the world, and I love my country and people should not have died waiting and praying for help that arrived too late.
I’m sick of ALL politicians, Republicans and Democrats. I have a solution. Build a 12 foot levee around Washington, D.C. Get the Red Cross out of there (their base is in D.C.) and other humanitarian organizations. Then pump water slowly and steadily into Washington. See what happens. Let them call out on the phones, pleading for help.
Let’s see how fast the military can be mobilized then.
It’s too late for the victims of Katrina now. They died, waiting. It should never have happened. Tomorrow I leave for Haiti. I know people are going to look at me, an American, and ask the same question I’m asking myself.
Why, America? Why?
http://www.bonnievanak.com
America, why? Why?
Why did three babies in the Superdome have to die from heat exhaustion waiting to be evacuated? Why did a man’s mother have to die in a nursing home, pleading for help from her son for five days until she drowned to death Friday night?
Why are Africans wondering what the hell happened with the post-Katrina disaster?
Why? I want answers. I work for a charity. Yeah, we’re sending help. We’ve got the trucks delivering food, water, other aid. Yeah, we’re praying.
Prayers aren’t enough. I want answers.
In 1992, Hurricane Andrew left south Dade looking like a nuclear explosion. I saw Katie Hale, then director of emergency operations for Dade County, scream on television that she needed the federal troops.
This week, I heard New Orleans mayor do the same thing. Only difference is, the victims of Andrew weren’t trapped in homes and buildings surrounded by rising water, waiting and praying for help.
Help that arrived far too late. Hurricane hit one week ago today. Five days later… the federal troops arrived.
Why wasn’t there a law created AFTER Andrew that sent in federal help IMMEDIATELY after such a disaster? Why? If there’s a law that says the federal government can’t intervene unless asked, because then it is martial law, then who gives a crap? SEND THEM IN. Hello people? There’s going to be lawlessness, shootings, you name it. It’s not rocket science.
Better to send in the military, haul these people’s asses the hell out of there and face criticism later than to let them die. I can’t imagine the horror of that poor woman in the nursing home, waiting and waiting, pleading with her helpless son to get her out of there. And then watching the flood waters rise and rise…and drowning…
And what is it with this blaming the victim crap I keep reading? "Those people in New Orleans should have evacuated. They knew better." Excuse me. If you had NO car, NO money, NO real way of getting out, what would you do?
And the mayor of N.O. himself… he’s not blameless in this. WHY did he issue a mandatory evacuation on SUNDAY when the hurricane was due to HIT MONDAY? Why didn’t he do it on Saturday? Saturday was only a voluntary evacuation. Let me tell you from living in an area where hurricanes hit down here in Florida, there is a BIG difference between a mandatory and a voluntary evacuation. Voluntary you think, "Ok, it's not going to be that bad. Maybe I'll board up."
Mandatory is, "Oh crap, they are serious!"
Did he really think it wasn’t going to be that bad? Why didn't he call in for help for buses to evacuate the poor and marginalized before the hurricane hit?
Let’s do the math… 12 foot levee facing 15-20 foot storm surge… equals…
You’re SOL.
I've heard the stories, how the federal funding for building the levees for New Orleans got cut. Or how this and that and this and that. I’m disgusted with the politicians saying blah blah blah. I’m disgusted with the finger pointing, the photo ops, the horror stories… and most of all…
I’m sick because this should not have happened. They knew what could happen to New Orleans. They knew those levees would not have held. They knew after Hurricane Andrew that local and state governments simply cannot handle the overwhelming magnitude of a catastrophic hurricane.
Why wasn’t a plan formed? Haul in the troops immediately after a hurricane to restore order. The police can’t do it (many are dead). Call it martial law. Who cares if it means lives are saved?
I’m weeping and disgusted because I work for a charity and the disaster I saw a year ago in Haiti, after 2,000 died from flooding from Hurricane Jeanne, is going to be nothing compared to this. Because I live in the greatest country in the world, and I love my country and people should not have died waiting and praying for help that arrived too late.
I’m sick of ALL politicians, Republicans and Democrats. I have a solution. Build a 12 foot levee around Washington, D.C. Get the Red Cross out of there (their base is in D.C.) and other humanitarian organizations. Then pump water slowly and steadily into Washington. See what happens. Let them call out on the phones, pleading for help.
Let’s see how fast the military can be mobilized then.
It’s too late for the victims of Katrina now. They died, waiting. It should never have happened. Tomorrow I leave for Haiti. I know people are going to look at me, an American, and ask the same question I’m asking myself.
Why, America? Why?
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Sunday, September 04, 2005
The missing
Apparently Rexanne Becnel is fine, because Vicki took that story off the database for missing authors. But there are still lots of authors unaccounted for. Please, if you know anything about these authors, contact Vicki at vkhinze@aol.com.
My friend's family is safe and living with him now. They lived in New Oreleans in one of the parishes that got totally submerged. Lost everything. Parents, aunt and sister-in-law staying with him down here in Florida. I think there will be lots more refugees in Florida in the coming days and weeks ahead.
My friend's family is safe and living with him now. They lived in New Oreleans in one of the parishes that got totally submerged. Lost everything. Parents, aunt and sister-in-law staying with him down here in Florida. I think there will be lots more refugees in Florida in the coming days and weeks ahead.
Water rising for author in New Orleans
From Vicki Hinze's web page for authors to check in who have been affected by Katrina.
Note on REXANNE BECNEL: Rexanne et al survived the storm but are still stuck in New Orleans and now the water is rising. Up to her porch. Situation is volatile at 10:30 A.M. Sat. 9/3/2005.
Scary stuff. From Vicki herself posts a very frustrating situation her poor aunt, a heart patient who had to be evacuated, faced in trying to get her meds. The bank she uses is under water and the druggist refused the check. She called vicki in tears... Come on people! this is ridiculous...
Note on REXANNE BECNEL: Rexanne et al survived the storm but are still stuck in New Orleans and now the water is rising. Up to her porch. Situation is volatile at 10:30 A.M. Sat. 9/3/2005.
Scary stuff. From Vicki herself posts a very frustrating situation her poor aunt, a heart patient who had to be evacuated, faced in trying to get her meds. The bank she uses is under water and the druggist refused the check. She called vicki in tears... Come on people! this is ridiculous...
Saturday, September 03, 2005
News flash: Reinquest dies, CNN changes headlines on web page
CNN finally changed the headlines on their web site when Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist died tonight.
When all this is over and done with, you have to hand the media covering the Katrina disaster a medal. I mean, you have journalists, hard core reporters who have covered wars, watching people die in front of them, ferrying people to help, getting the word out, helping to reunite families. Telling us what's really going on. Those who say, "Oh, they're just being dramatic" are saying that to comfort themselves. There's no need to be dramatic when the drama is played out right before your eyes...
Some of those journalists are going to have emotional scars that will last a lifetime. They're human too. And thank God we live in a country with freedom of the press. If this happened in Cuba, the headlines would be, "Katrina gently brushes against coast, one or two may have stubbed their toes. Fidel blames US."
http://www.bonnievanak.com
When all this is over and done with, you have to hand the media covering the Katrina disaster a medal. I mean, you have journalists, hard core reporters who have covered wars, watching people die in front of them, ferrying people to help, getting the word out, helping to reunite families. Telling us what's really going on. Those who say, "Oh, they're just being dramatic" are saying that to comfort themselves. There's no need to be dramatic when the drama is played out right before your eyes...
Some of those journalists are going to have emotional scars that will last a lifetime. They're human too. And thank God we live in a country with freedom of the press. If this happened in Cuba, the headlines would be, "Katrina gently brushes against coast, one or two may have stubbed their toes. Fidel blames US."
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Hurricane Relief
Here's some relief from hurricane images for you...
This weekend is the Labor Day telethon. Firemen in my area are doing a boot drive to collect for MDA and hurricane relief. Spare some change, if you can.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
News Flash! Black people helping out!
Okay yeah, I'm beginning VERY sarcastic. Read this post on Kate Rothwell's blog about a guy in N.O. who is helping rescue people from the flooded city. He has wonderful stories and I totally support his POV in spreading positive messages, but I find his tone in one entry condescending. "This was in a really rough neighborhood and we came across five seemingly unsavory characters."
He goes on to talk about how they risked themselves to save other people.
Well, guess what? Last year in Haiti when we tipped over into the flood waters in our Montero and were stuck for nearly an hour, guess who finally rescued us? The nice white UN boys? Nope. The black people.
See America, black people do save white people. Sheesh. It's pretty damn sad when someone like this dude, who is in the thick of things, saving lives, has to stop and make a point that all black people do NOT carry guns, loot stores (I'd loot a &#@*&# Walmart and carry off food, clothing and water too if I were stuck there! But NOT TV sets and the other stuff. Hello people? THERE IS NO ELECTRICITY!) and create havoc.
On a personal note, friend of ours down here in Florida is driving to Atlanta to get his parents. They used to live in New Orleans. They're homeless now. Mom and Dad coming to live with him.
On the bright side of things, we had dinner with friends tonight we sheltered last year during Hurricane Frances and did NOT talk about what's happening on the Gulf Coast at all. What a welcome break it was! And God bless Lt. Gen. Russel Honore in N.O. who is hustling others to move their asses and help those poor people. Can we clone him? Let's hear it for our military guys, who know how to respond to a crisis and can clear the way for relief trucks to arrive.
It's about damn time.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
He goes on to talk about how they risked themselves to save other people.
Well, guess what? Last year in Haiti when we tipped over into the flood waters in our Montero and were stuck for nearly an hour, guess who finally rescued us? The nice white UN boys? Nope. The black people.
See America, black people do save white people. Sheesh. It's pretty damn sad when someone like this dude, who is in the thick of things, saving lives, has to stop and make a point that all black people do NOT carry guns, loot stores (I'd loot a &#@*&# Walmart and carry off food, clothing and water too if I were stuck there! But NOT TV sets and the other stuff. Hello people? THERE IS NO ELECTRICITY!) and create havoc.
On a personal note, friend of ours down here in Florida is driving to Atlanta to get his parents. They used to live in New Orleans. They're homeless now. Mom and Dad coming to live with him.
On the bright side of things, we had dinner with friends tonight we sheltered last year during Hurricane Frances and did NOT talk about what's happening on the Gulf Coast at all. What a welcome break it was! And God bless Lt. Gen. Russel Honore in N.O. who is hustling others to move their asses and help those poor people. Can we clone him? Let's hear it for our military guys, who know how to respond to a crisis and can clear the way for relief trucks to arrive.
It's about damn time.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Friday, September 02, 2005
This goes beyond politics
Just in case anyone who reads my last blog entry thinks I'm being political, I'm not. The link I got was from someone who voted for Bush in the last election and is a Republican.
This crisis goes beyond politics. I don't care if the federal government is Republican, Democrat, Independent, or run by little green aliens in purple suits. These people in the midst of New Orleans need help, NOW. How can aid organizations deliver the food and water they have to a city that is engulfed in total anarchy?
I'm so upset I can't work. I can't write. I can't even think beyond this.
This crisis goes beyond politics. I don't care if the federal government is Republican, Democrat, Independent, or run by little green aliens in purple suits. These people in the midst of New Orleans need help, NOW. How can aid organizations deliver the food and water they have to a city that is engulfed in total anarchy?
I'm so upset I can't work. I can't write. I can't even think beyond this.
What's going in New Orleans?
Click onto this link to listen to a powerful, deeply emotional radio interview with the mayor of New Orleans. Where the hell is the &#*&@*# federal aid? The &#*&@*# troops?
http://www.bonnievanak.com
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Help with housing refugees
Got this email tonight from moveon.org. Passing it along to someone who might be able to help. Hey, in a crisis like this, political affiliations don't matter. People do.
Hurricane Katrina's toll on communities, homes and lives has devastated the nation. Now victims must face the daunting question of where to go next—and we can help.
Tens of thousands of newly homeless families are being bused to a stadium in Houston, where they may wait for weeks or months. At least 80,000 are competing for area shelters, and countless more are in motels, cars, or wherever they can stay out of the elements. The Federal Emergency Management Agency and the Red Cross are scrambling to find shelter for the displaced.
This morning, we've launched an emergency national housing drive to connect your empty beds with hurricane victims who desperately need a place to wait out the storm. You can post your offer of housing (a spare room, extra bed, even a decent couch) and search for available housing online at:
http://www.hurricanehousing.org
Housing is most urgently needed within reasonable driving distance (about 300 miles) of the affected areas in the Southeast, especially New Orleans.
Please forward this message to anyone you know in the region who might be able to help.
But no matter where you live, your housing could still make a world of difference to a person or family in need, so please offer what you can.
The process is simple:
· You can sign up to become a host by posting a description of whatever housing you have available, along with contact information. You can change or remove your offer at any time.
· Hurricane victims, local and national relief organizations, friends and relatives can search the site for housing. We'll do everything we can to get your offers where they are needed most. Many shelters actually already have Internet access, but folks without 'net access can still make use of the site through case workers and family members.
· Hurricane victims or relief agencies will contact hosts and together decide if it's a good match and make the necessary travel arrangements. The host's address is not released until a particular match is agreed on.
If hosting doesn't work for you, please consider donating to the Red Cross to help with the enormous tasks of rescue and recovery. You can give online at:http://www.moveon.org/r?r=859
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Hurricane Katrina's toll on communities, homes and lives has devastated the nation. Now victims must face the daunting question of where to go next—and we can help.
Tens of thousands of newly homeless families are being bused to a stadium in Houston, where they may wait for weeks or months. At least 80,000 are competing for area shelters, and countless more are in motels, cars, or wherever they can stay out of the elements. The Federal Emergency Management Agency and the Red Cross are scrambling to find shelter for the displaced.
This morning, we've launched an emergency national housing drive to connect your empty beds with hurricane victims who desperately need a place to wait out the storm. You can post your offer of housing (a spare room, extra bed, even a decent couch) and search for available housing online at:
http://www.hurricanehousing.org
Housing is most urgently needed within reasonable driving distance (about 300 miles) of the affected areas in the Southeast, especially New Orleans.
Please forward this message to anyone you know in the region who might be able to help.
But no matter where you live, your housing could still make a world of difference to a person or family in need, so please offer what you can.
The process is simple:
· You can sign up to become a host by posting a description of whatever housing you have available, along with contact information. You can change or remove your offer at any time.
· Hurricane victims, local and national relief organizations, friends and relatives can search the site for housing. We'll do everything we can to get your offers where they are needed most. Many shelters actually already have Internet access, but folks without 'net access can still make use of the site through case workers and family members.
· Hurricane victims or relief agencies will contact hosts and together decide if it's a good match and make the necessary travel arrangements. The host's address is not released until a particular match is agreed on.
If hosting doesn't work for you, please consider donating to the Red Cross to help with the enormous tasks of rescue and recovery. You can give online at:http://www.moveon.org/r?r=859
http://www.bonnievanak.com
More post hurricane stuff
Found a great link if you want to help other than through Red Cross, etc. Like if you live in the area and want to help, or places that need donations of medical personnel, oxygen, etc. Or if you're searching for missing family members, friends. Or if you have a room you want to let out to a hurricane refugee. Found it through the comments section of the Smart Bitches blog.
Yahoo has a link for Network for Good. It lists Red Cross, Salvation Army AND organizations like Noah's Wish that help stranded/abandoned pets post storm. Check it out.
On a deeply touching note, if you want to read a personal account of this tragedy, check out writer Larissa Ione's blog. She left her cat at the vet's because he was sick and she had to evacuate in a hurry. The vet's office is flooded now, and she fears he may have drowned. Her home is flooded and she can't go back AND her horribly expensive hurricane insurance does NOT cover floods, so they've lost EVERYTHING.
Alison Kent and others are doing an online auction to help her out. Here's the link to Larissa's blog:
God bless everyone suffering in this tragedy.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Yahoo has a link for Network for Good. It lists Red Cross, Salvation Army AND organizations like Noah's Wish that help stranded/abandoned pets post storm. Check it out.
On a deeply touching note, if you want to read a personal account of this tragedy, check out writer Larissa Ione's blog. She left her cat at the vet's because he was sick and she had to evacuate in a hurry. The vet's office is flooded now, and she fears he may have drowned. Her home is flooded and she can't go back AND her horribly expensive hurricane insurance does NOT cover floods, so they've lost EVERYTHING.
Alison Kent and others are doing an online auction to help her out. Here's the link to Larissa's blog:
God bless everyone suffering in this tragedy.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Well, here's some good news for a change
Americans offering up spare rooms in their homes to refugees for very very cheap rent. I love this country's generosity!
My friend in Mobile, AL is okay, her family okay as well. Limited phone, but no power, roof damage, power will be out for weeks. She's sweltering in the heat. I just bought this and I'm going to mail it to her.
Mobile has limited mail service. Check this link for all hurricane affected areas to see what postal codes have mail service.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
My friend in Mobile, AL is okay, her family okay as well. Limited phone, but no power, roof damage, power will be out for weeks. She's sweltering in the heat. I just bought this and I'm going to mail it to her.
Mobile has limited mail service. Check this link for all hurricane affected areas to see what postal codes have mail service.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Deja vu
The scene was out of a ghastly nightmare. Bodies stacked up, dead from raging flood waters. People homeless, begging for food, water. Makeshift hospitals attending to the sick. Thousands dead, lawlessness raging as gunmen shot at relief vehicles intending to help. Looting. Riots for food.
New Orleans? No, Gonaives Haiti, nearly 1 year ago.
I went there after Tropical Storm Jeanne killed more than 2,000, shifted into Hurricane Jeanne, smacked my house and moved on. It was utter chaos. Dangerous.
Today I turn on my TV and see a replay of the same scene, only in my backyard. I watched Harry Connick, Jr. with a dazed look in his eyes tell Katie Couric, "We're supposed to turn on the Today show and see something like this happening halfway around the world. It's not supposed to happen here."
It did. And the meltdown of civilized society has begun. The looting boils my blood. The shooting at rescue vehicles in New Orleans outrages me, yet it proves that reduced to the most primitive levels of living, some people turn into animals. The men, and women, shooting at rescue vehicles and looting are no different from the ones in Haiti last year. You can't point a finger at Haiti like some people I know and say, "Oh it's THOSE people. You know, they're like that. We're not."
Well, wake up and smell the anarchy, chum. We are.
Last year in Haiti, we had to avoid driving down certain roads because minutes before, hijackers jumped onto a CARE truck and stole it. They didn't steal it because they were hungry and the truck carried food. They stole it to get money. Pure selfishness.
Today, I watch scenes on television I saw in real life last year in Haiti, only now in my neighboring states. I have to keep reminding myself, for all the hellish nightmare of post-hurricane survival, there are good people. Willing to help out. Put themselves on the line for others. There are good people out there helping, trying to get control.
I just wish they'd show more of them on television.
New Orleans? No, Gonaives Haiti, nearly 1 year ago.
I went there after Tropical Storm Jeanne killed more than 2,000, shifted into Hurricane Jeanne, smacked my house and moved on. It was utter chaos. Dangerous.
Today I turn on my TV and see a replay of the same scene, only in my backyard. I watched Harry Connick, Jr. with a dazed look in his eyes tell Katie Couric, "We're supposed to turn on the Today show and see something like this happening halfway around the world. It's not supposed to happen here."
It did. And the meltdown of civilized society has begun. The looting boils my blood. The shooting at rescue vehicles in New Orleans outrages me, yet it proves that reduced to the most primitive levels of living, some people turn into animals. The men, and women, shooting at rescue vehicles and looting are no different from the ones in Haiti last year. You can't point a finger at Haiti like some people I know and say, "Oh it's THOSE people. You know, they're like that. We're not."
Well, wake up and smell the anarchy, chum. We are.
Last year in Haiti, we had to avoid driving down certain roads because minutes before, hijackers jumped onto a CARE truck and stole it. They didn't steal it because they were hungry and the truck carried food. They stole it to get money. Pure selfishness.
Today, I watch scenes on television I saw in real life last year in Haiti, only now in my neighboring states. I have to keep reminding myself, for all the hellish nightmare of post-hurricane survival, there are good people. Willing to help out. Put themselves on the line for others. There are good people out there helping, trying to get control.
I just wish they'd show more of them on television.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Change of scenery
Can't watch the news anymore... I'll do my part to help, but I'm od'ing on the coverage and it's depressing the hell out of me. Since I'll be depressed enough next week in Haiti, I decided to post some change of scenery photos.Adrian Paul, a very very nice change of scenery. He's probably saying, "I will kill you with my GREAT BIG DAGGER!"
And here... "I changed my mind. I'll kill you ... with pleasure... with my other GREATER BIGGER DAGGER OF LOVE." hee hee!
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Site for writers in hurricane areas to check in
Author Vicki Hinze has created a database web page for writers who live in the affected areas to check in. If you've heard from a writer friend in the area who's okay, please email her at vkhinze@aol.com.
&#@*&# spammers hit this post before, so I deleted and now I have comment verification. If this keeps up, I'm prohibiting all comments. Damn them!
http://www.bonnievanak.com
&#@*&# spammers hit this post before, so I deleted and now I have comment verification. If this keeps up, I'm prohibiting all comments. Damn them!
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
I had sex with Oded Fehr
Last night I dreamed I had sex with Oded Fehr. (See photo at left. He's begging me, "Please, Bonnie, have sex with me now!")We were married and he came home from work in this funky red jacket, dark trousers, white starched shirt and red silk tie. He threw down his briefcase and said, “I can’t wait to make love to you, right now.”
Oh. Okay.
But trouble was, it was … meh. I couldn’t climax. He asked me what was wrong and I told him I was tense.
Then all the sudden, he shapeshifts. Changes before my eyes… and changes to…
Jim Cantore from The Weather Channel. Complete in his raingear, talking about hurricanes. I screamed, “noooooooo!”
It’s not a deep dream, I know what it means, See, Jim Cantore has the knack of picking areas to broadcast from that get slammed. Thursday, Katrina was due to hit us in northern Broward. He broadcast from Miami. What got hit worst? Miami.
For the gulf coast landing, he picked Gulfport, Mississippi. Everyone thought New Orleans was ground zero. So what got the worst of it? Gulfport, Mississippi.
So what does all this, and my dream mean? Simple.
If Jim Cantore shows up anywhere near you, you’re f**ked.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
55 dead, Jesus survives Katrina
news reports... 55 dead, 50 at an apartment complex in Mississippi. Levee broke in NO, flooding downtown (shit shit shit!!!). And a bit of interesting news, the statue of Jesus on Jackson Square survived being hit by two massive oak trees outside St. Louis Cathedral. Fence came down, the trees broke off only the thumb and forefinger of his outstretched hand. Wow.
All this and I find myself with a bit of survivor's guilt. I have power, house, family, dogs, everything. And my job. Don't forget all those whose homes were wiped out are probably now unemployed as well, since businesses were destroyed. Why did Katrina, the hurricane that was supposed to hit my city and swerved left at the last minute, miss me? There are people in Dade and south Broward without power and with flooded homes. People dead on the Gulf Coast. Why was I so lucky?
As for the devastation...it's horrific. People won't even be able to get back to their homes for weeks b/c of flooding. Checked Alison Kent's blog and author Larissa Ione, her CP, is okay but house damaged, flooded. Alison and others will be doing something to help out in the near future.
In the meantime, haven't heard anything from my friend in Mobile, AL. She stayed. I'm sure she's without power, maybe even phone. Down here after Katrina, some couldn't even call out on her cell phone. I'm sure she's okay and so is her family...
Still, I'm worried.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
All this and I find myself with a bit of survivor's guilt. I have power, house, family, dogs, everything. And my job. Don't forget all those whose homes were wiped out are probably now unemployed as well, since businesses were destroyed. Why did Katrina, the hurricane that was supposed to hit my city and swerved left at the last minute, miss me? There are people in Dade and south Broward without power and with flooded homes. People dead on the Gulf Coast. Why was I so lucky?
As for the devastation...it's horrific. People won't even be able to get back to their homes for weeks b/c of flooding. Checked Alison Kent's blog and author Larissa Ione, her CP, is okay but house damaged, flooded. Alison and others will be doing something to help out in the near future.
In the meantime, haven't heard anything from my friend in Mobile, AL. She stayed. I'm sure she's without power, maybe even phone. Down here after Katrina, some couldn't even call out on her cell phone. I'm sure she's okay and so is her family...
Still, I'm worried.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Monday, August 29, 2005
50,000 topless virgins, a leopard-skin loincloth & the Great She-Elephant
And now, for the lighter side of life...
50,000 topless virgins are dancing for the privilege of being the king of Swaziland’s next bride. They sing tributes to the great She-Elephant, (no kidding), otherwise known as the king’s mom.
Chance to get a cell phone, a Beamer and call your MIL a she-elephant. Sounds good to me.
Wonder if the MIL is the great She-Elephant, does that mean her son has a substantially-sized “trunk” of his own?
Okay, bad joke.
MSNBC has the story. Seems the king, 37, wanted the national ritual to pick a new wife (already has a few in the royal stable). Said king wears a leopard-skin loincloth. Must be his "picking out a new virgin" outfit. The virgins perform the reed dance and he picks one to be his wife. He paid a fine of one cow to lift the ban on sex with virgins.
One cow = one virgin.
The virgins all wear chastity scarves. Supposed to ward off preying men. I’ve heard of chastity belts, of course. But a scarf? Is it Hermes? Silk? How does the scarf ward off lusty men?
Doesn’t seem very effective to me. If items of clothing are used, might I suggest a chastity steel-toed boot that plays a classic Stones tune? When you kick something with it, it plays “Can’t get no satisfaction.”
Lusty panting male: There she is! A VIRGIN! The last one the king hasn’t nabbed yet! She’s mine!
Virgin: Back off, you lusty panting male! I’m armed with my chastity boots!
Kicks lusty panting male squarely in the ballocks with steel-toed boot. Mick’s voice warbles out, “Can’t get no satisfaction.”
Lusty panting male doubles over, howling. Virginity preserved. Lusty panting male starts thinking maybe a nice older widow the age of the Great She-Elephant might be better for nooky. And he’ll save himself a cow or two.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
50,000 topless virgins are dancing for the privilege of being the king of Swaziland’s next bride. They sing tributes to the great She-Elephant, (no kidding), otherwise known as the king’s mom.
Chance to get a cell phone, a Beamer and call your MIL a she-elephant. Sounds good to me.
Wonder if the MIL is the great She-Elephant, does that mean her son has a substantially-sized “trunk” of his own?
Okay, bad joke.
MSNBC has the story. Seems the king, 37, wanted the national ritual to pick a new wife (already has a few in the royal stable). Said king wears a leopard-skin loincloth. Must be his "picking out a new virgin" outfit. The virgins perform the reed dance and he picks one to be his wife. He paid a fine of one cow to lift the ban on sex with virgins.
One cow = one virgin.
The virgins all wear chastity scarves. Supposed to ward off preying men. I’ve heard of chastity belts, of course. But a scarf? Is it Hermes? Silk? How does the scarf ward off lusty men?
Doesn’t seem very effective to me. If items of clothing are used, might I suggest a chastity steel-toed boot that plays a classic Stones tune? When you kick something with it, it plays “Can’t get no satisfaction.”
Lusty panting male: There she is! A VIRGIN! The last one the king hasn’t nabbed yet! She’s mine!
Virgin: Back off, you lusty panting male! I’m armed with my chastity boots!
Kicks lusty panting male squarely in the ballocks with steel-toed boot. Mick’s voice warbles out, “Can’t get no satisfaction.”
Lusty panting male doubles over, howling. Virginity preserved. Lusty panting male starts thinking maybe a nice older widow the age of the Great She-Elephant might be better for nooky. And he’ll save himself a cow or two.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Mobile getting slammed by Katrina
The water is rising in Mobile.
It’s sunny outside my window and on the television, it’s raining. Pouring. I watched footage of a Mobile, AL television reporter filming on the top of a hotel roof. Downtown is submerged. Looks like New Orleans got spared, a little, the worst of the storm surge, but Mobile didn’t. Water was rising up to the top of traffic lights in some areas.
My friend lives there.
We talked on the phone last night. She assured me they are on high ground, were boarded up, etc. We talked for a bit about hurricanes. She told me how they, and their neighbors, didn’t even board up until yesterday. And she told me why… something only someone who has seen the relentless conga line of hurricanes approaching can understand.
“I think we’re just weary.”
Though a hurricane hasn’t slammed into my city and I’ve been lucky just to get sideswiped, I know the feeling. Last year. Charley. Frances. Jeanne. Ivan missed us entirely.
This year, holding breath for Cindy, and Dennis. And last week, boarding up for Katrina.
She didn't miss us. Not entirely.
Then there was the monster, Andrew, in 1992. In 1992, at one point, they said my city would suffer a direct hit. Instead Homestead got nailed. It took years to recover.
Years.
Hurricanes make you weary. Again and again, get the supplies, shutter up the house, ride it out, swallow that lump of fear in your throat. How bad will it be? How high will the water rise? Will trees fall on the house? When is it time to go into a safe room? Will the roof hold? Will we get hit directly or just skirted? Will the power hold out and if it doesn’t, how long will it be before we have it? Did I store enough water?
And, on a lighter note, Do I have enough underarm deodorant?
The uncertainty factor plays a huge part of the anxiety. And then we discussed the weatherman phenomena. It happens when you tune into the Weather Channel, or CNN, or any national TV station and see the grim-faced weatherman/woman pointing at the spinning monster spitting back wind and water and saying, “Storm surge, blah blah blah, heading, blah blah blah.”
They’re talking about YOUR house. Your city. You. You’re thinking, “Easy for you to say there’s a hurricane coming, chum. YOU don’t have to live through it.”
Then there’s the aftermath. No power. You pick up debris, survey the yard, house, damage. If you’ve got flooding, there’s water in your house. Or maybe your house has become its own little island.
I felt so sorry for a guy they interviewed on TV who planned to ride Katrina out in his house. He said, "We have enough water, food, blah blah, and we'll be okay if it's just a few weeks. Hopefully it won't be a few months."
Trust me, mister, it will be months. Get used to standing in a long, long line for supplies like they are now in Miami. For a long long time. The sun beating down on your neck, the sweat rolling off your brow. People in Homestead packed their bags after Andrew and moved away. Deserting their homes. Some parts of south Dade looked like a ghost town after Andrew.
I’ve been fortunate never to get flooded, but I’ve covered enough storms in my day job to know what it’s like. A few years ago after a tropical storm dumped tons of rain in Jamaica, I went there to survey the damage and see how my organization can help. We had water boots. We waded through this woman’s yard, water sloshing up past our boots, to her porch. She showed me her house…safe and snug, and then she took me out to her bedroom. She opened the back door and warned, “Don’t fall out.”
Water was up to the door’s jam.
She had a sea of brown, ucky water in her yard. In another area, people were paddling down a roadway in a bamboo rafts they use for tourists on the Black River.
And last year, in Haiti, Gonaives. 2,000 people killed from Jeanne. No real warning, they died in their homes or swept away in flood waters. Our vehicle tipped and nearly fell on its side last year as we drove through the brown, murky flood waters filled with sewage and rotting corpses. We stood in that water, as it sloshed up to our hips, for nearly an hour, helplessly waiting for someone to help pull our Montero out.
Did I mention how much I loathe hurricanes?
So I’m sitting here, worried sick for my friend. Feeling depressed at all the mess and muck and possible loss of life. The fear for all those trapped in this hurricane… those inside the Superdome with its leaks and rising water, my friend in Mobile, and everyone else.
In the meantime, I sure hope that water stops rising.
It’s sunny outside my window and on the television, it’s raining. Pouring. I watched footage of a Mobile, AL television reporter filming on the top of a hotel roof. Downtown is submerged. Looks like New Orleans got spared, a little, the worst of the storm surge, but Mobile didn’t. Water was rising up to the top of traffic lights in some areas.
My friend lives there.
We talked on the phone last night. She assured me they are on high ground, were boarded up, etc. We talked for a bit about hurricanes. She told me how they, and their neighbors, didn’t even board up until yesterday. And she told me why… something only someone who has seen the relentless conga line of hurricanes approaching can understand.
“I think we’re just weary.”
Though a hurricane hasn’t slammed into my city and I’ve been lucky just to get sideswiped, I know the feeling. Last year. Charley. Frances. Jeanne. Ivan missed us entirely.
This year, holding breath for Cindy, and Dennis. And last week, boarding up for Katrina.
She didn't miss us. Not entirely.
Then there was the monster, Andrew, in 1992. In 1992, at one point, they said my city would suffer a direct hit. Instead Homestead got nailed. It took years to recover.
Years.
Hurricanes make you weary. Again and again, get the supplies, shutter up the house, ride it out, swallow that lump of fear in your throat. How bad will it be? How high will the water rise? Will trees fall on the house? When is it time to go into a safe room? Will the roof hold? Will we get hit directly or just skirted? Will the power hold out and if it doesn’t, how long will it be before we have it? Did I store enough water?
And, on a lighter note, Do I have enough underarm deodorant?
The uncertainty factor plays a huge part of the anxiety. And then we discussed the weatherman phenomena. It happens when you tune into the Weather Channel, or CNN, or any national TV station and see the grim-faced weatherman/woman pointing at the spinning monster spitting back wind and water and saying, “Storm surge, blah blah blah, heading, blah blah blah.”
They’re talking about YOUR house. Your city. You. You’re thinking, “Easy for you to say there’s a hurricane coming, chum. YOU don’t have to live through it.”
Then there’s the aftermath. No power. You pick up debris, survey the yard, house, damage. If you’ve got flooding, there’s water in your house. Or maybe your house has become its own little island.
I felt so sorry for a guy they interviewed on TV who planned to ride Katrina out in his house. He said, "We have enough water, food, blah blah, and we'll be okay if it's just a few weeks. Hopefully it won't be a few months."
Trust me, mister, it will be months. Get used to standing in a long, long line for supplies like they are now in Miami. For a long long time. The sun beating down on your neck, the sweat rolling off your brow. People in Homestead packed their bags after Andrew and moved away. Deserting their homes. Some parts of south Dade looked like a ghost town after Andrew.
I’ve been fortunate never to get flooded, but I’ve covered enough storms in my day job to know what it’s like. A few years ago after a tropical storm dumped tons of rain in Jamaica, I went there to survey the damage and see how my organization can help. We had water boots. We waded through this woman’s yard, water sloshing up past our boots, to her porch. She showed me her house…safe and snug, and then she took me out to her bedroom. She opened the back door and warned, “Don’t fall out.”
Water was up to the door’s jam.
She had a sea of brown, ucky water in her yard. In another area, people were paddling down a roadway in a bamboo rafts they use for tourists on the Black River.
And last year, in Haiti, Gonaives. 2,000 people killed from Jeanne. No real warning, they died in their homes or swept away in flood waters. Our vehicle tipped and nearly fell on its side last year as we drove through the brown, murky flood waters filled with sewage and rotting corpses. We stood in that water, as it sloshed up to our hips, for nearly an hour, helplessly waiting for someone to help pull our Montero out.
Did I mention how much I loathe hurricanes?
So I’m sitting here, worried sick for my friend. Feeling depressed at all the mess and muck and possible loss of life. The fear for all those trapped in this hurricane… those inside the Superdome with its leaks and rising water, my friend in Mobile, and everyone else.
In the meantime, I sure hope that water stops rising.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Pray for New Orleans and Gulf Coast
This freaking storm scares the bejesus out of me. And I'm in Florida. It's like watching a disaster movie on TV, only it's real. I'm feeling the same anxiety I felt on Thursday when it hit us down here in Florida, only this is ten times worse because the storm is ten times bigger... o.m.g.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
O.M.G.
Katrina is a cat. 5 and heading for the Gulf coast. 160 mph.
Predictable, with the warm waters stirring it up. But absolutely freaking scary. I saw what happened to Dade county after Andrew. Flattened like a pancake. Nothing left, no trees, roofs ripped off. A bunch of us went down there to help out afterward and it was like someone dumped a bomb on the region. But this is worse. Katrina is a bigger storm and the rain it will dump... the flooding... people south of me are still bailing out from when Katrina hit us. And if it hits New Orleans... o.m.g. Those poor people. I hope and pray they can all get out... or at least can reach higher ground. I love New Orleans. What a city. Hot and mellow jazz, the smooth, cool slide of a hurricane down your throat, terrific food...
Will all that just be memories?
On a brighter note, things are settling back to "normal" whatever that is, around my house. FIL is back home, power is back. Friends have their power back as well (they hooked up the generator to the icemaker and fridge, two essentials. Food and ice for drinks) Tiger has resumed hiding in his usual spot by the couch instead of stalking me around. And I finished a proposal for my agent and mailed it off yesterday. Just wanted to get something accomplished this weekend other than picking up debris and taking down shutters.
One week from Tuesday, I'll be in Haiti. Never thought I'd think visiting a volatile country where they kidnap and kill people as no big deal. That's what hurricanes do to you... even a cat. 1.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Predictable, with the warm waters stirring it up. But absolutely freaking scary. I saw what happened to Dade county after Andrew. Flattened like a pancake. Nothing left, no trees, roofs ripped off. A bunch of us went down there to help out afterward and it was like someone dumped a bomb on the region. But this is worse. Katrina is a bigger storm and the rain it will dump... the flooding... people south of me are still bailing out from when Katrina hit us. And if it hits New Orleans... o.m.g. Those poor people. I hope and pray they can all get out... or at least can reach higher ground. I love New Orleans. What a city. Hot and mellow jazz, the smooth, cool slide of a hurricane down your throat, terrific food...
Will all that just be memories?
On a brighter note, things are settling back to "normal" whatever that is, around my house. FIL is back home, power is back. Friends have their power back as well (they hooked up the generator to the icemaker and fridge, two essentials. Food and ice for drinks) Tiger has resumed hiding in his usual spot by the couch instead of stalking me around. And I finished a proposal for my agent and mailed it off yesterday. Just wanted to get something accomplished this weekend other than picking up debris and taking down shutters.
One week from Tuesday, I'll be in Haiti. Never thought I'd think visiting a volatile country where they kidnap and kill people as no big deal. That's what hurricanes do to you... even a cat. 1.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Jesus
Last night, I dreamed of meeting Jesus.
It was a powerful dream. I looked out this back door and saw a beautiful meadow, shorn emerald grass, and wildflowers and trees and brush in the distance. I was drawn to walk across it. I said to myself, "This is a dream, but I'm going to follow it." I got to the edge and suddenly a small dirt path appeared. I knew I had to walk it.
I walked upon it and then it suddenly split into two. The lower half had families walking along it, and the upper path was fairly deserted. I took the upper path. I came upon a few teenagers at this waystation, reading religious material. I knew that wasn't for me. I knew where I was going.
I was walking to heaven to meet Jesus. So I kept walking and I came to another waystation, like a picnic table. There were some kids playing there with plastic toys. And a bearded guy in a robe and cloak. I knew it was Jesus. I didn't ask. I didn't grovel or start gushing. I just said Hi, as if we were old friends. And we started talking.
I didn't want to treat him any different in heaven than I treated him on earth, because when you're friends with someone, why change the relationship just because the setting is different? I was respectful, following his lead. But I didn't gush.
I forget what we talked about. I did ask him something. I told him the bible passage about the parable he told of the workers getting paid equally whether they started work at 5 p.m. or dawn bugged me. Because I said it seemed unfair. He just smiled. Then I asked him if, since I was dreaming this, if heaven was just what everyone imagined it to be in their own minds. I love wildflowers and meadows. I told him, "I mean, is all this just an illusion and is heaven filled with a bunch of old naked people walking about? Because that would gross me out, seeing a bunch of old naked people."
He laughed. He told me no, it was really what I saw.
Some parts are a blur, but I do remember showing him one of my loves - steam engines. There was an old guy there wearing a train engineer's cap. He talked about locomotives and stuff and then we were going to ride the train, but I told Jesus we needed the old guy to operate the engine. Because I love steam locomotives, but I don't know how to operate them. So we went for a train ride and we pretended we were in a wild west movie, chasing after bandits. It was fun.
And then at one point, because I had the feeling I wasn't supposed to stay there, it was just a visit, I asked the Lord why I was there. And he told me that he had been very depressed about what was happening in the world today and his dad sent me up there for a visit to cheer him up and entertain him.
And that's when I woke up. And I felt pretty depressed myself. Things must be pretty rotten in the world today if I'm the one chosen to cheer Jesus up.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
It was a powerful dream. I looked out this back door and saw a beautiful meadow, shorn emerald grass, and wildflowers and trees and brush in the distance. I was drawn to walk across it. I said to myself, "This is a dream, but I'm going to follow it." I got to the edge and suddenly a small dirt path appeared. I knew I had to walk it.
I walked upon it and then it suddenly split into two. The lower half had families walking along it, and the upper path was fairly deserted. I took the upper path. I came upon a few teenagers at this waystation, reading religious material. I knew that wasn't for me. I knew where I was going.
I was walking to heaven to meet Jesus. So I kept walking and I came to another waystation, like a picnic table. There were some kids playing there with plastic toys. And a bearded guy in a robe and cloak. I knew it was Jesus. I didn't ask. I didn't grovel or start gushing. I just said Hi, as if we were old friends. And we started talking.
I didn't want to treat him any different in heaven than I treated him on earth, because when you're friends with someone, why change the relationship just because the setting is different? I was respectful, following his lead. But I didn't gush.
I forget what we talked about. I did ask him something. I told him the bible passage about the parable he told of the workers getting paid equally whether they started work at 5 p.m. or dawn bugged me. Because I said it seemed unfair. He just smiled. Then I asked him if, since I was dreaming this, if heaven was just what everyone imagined it to be in their own minds. I love wildflowers and meadows. I told him, "I mean, is all this just an illusion and is heaven filled with a bunch of old naked people walking about? Because that would gross me out, seeing a bunch of old naked people."
He laughed. He told me no, it was really what I saw.
Some parts are a blur, but I do remember showing him one of my loves - steam engines. There was an old guy there wearing a train engineer's cap. He talked about locomotives and stuff and then we were going to ride the train, but I told Jesus we needed the old guy to operate the engine. Because I love steam locomotives, but I don't know how to operate them. So we went for a train ride and we pretended we were in a wild west movie, chasing after bandits. It was fun.
And then at one point, because I had the feeling I wasn't supposed to stay there, it was just a visit, I asked the Lord why I was there. And he told me that he had been very depressed about what was happening in the world today and his dad sent me up there for a visit to cheer him up and entertain him.
And that's when I woke up. And I felt pretty depressed myself. Things must be pretty rotten in the world today if I'm the one chosen to cheer Jesus up.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Friday, August 26, 2005
This underwear feels funny...
Ok, so the lights kept going on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off.It wasn't any excuse to wear my husband's underpants.
So what if I couldn't really see and thought his freshly washed briefs were my panties? Okay, that thingie in the front SHOULD have warned me. But hell, it was a hurricane and I was scared and distracted, the wind is howling outside, tree branches are whacking the roof, the parrot, in the living room was squawking and the dogs were whimpering ... again... and my husband was at the hospital, working, AGAIN... leaving me alone during yet another hurricane... (how many is this now? Five?) I just wanted to have on fresh panties.
Just in case. Because my mom always told me, always wear clean underwear in case of an accident. And I always listened to my mom. And I figured an accident can apply directly to a hurricane. So as the trees are bending and the rain is pouring, I put on my husband's underwear.
I took them off immediately, of course, as soon as I figured out what happened.
I didn't like the feel of that thingie in the front.
And now it's after the fact, and I still have power. The dogs are fine, the parrot is back on teh patio warbling FU to anyone who listens and I even cooked a lasanga for my husband (who worked 17 hours straight) and my father-in-law (who is staying with us now b/c he doesn't have power).
I just didn't tell him about the underwear incident. It's our little secret, okay? ;-)
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Today's forecast
Indoors:
Rain
followed by
More rain
Wind
More rain
And scattered newspersons standing at the beach, screaming on television and trying to look like Jim Cantore so s/he can be picked up on the national feeds.
Note to local newscasters: You will NEVER be Jim Cantore
Indooors:
Occasional sprinklings of rum, followed by possible downpour of muscle relaxers
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Rain
followed by
More rain
Wind
More rain
And scattered newspersons standing at the beach, screaming on television and trying to look like Jim Cantore so s/he can be picked up on the national feeds.
Note to local newscasters: You will NEVER be Jim Cantore
Indooors:
Occasional sprinklings of rum, followed by possible downpour of muscle relaxers
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
My night
12:30 a.m.
Me: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
DH: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
RING RING RING!!!
Me: zzzz...uhhuh? WTF?
DH: zzzz...uhhhhh...lo? uh...blah blah blah blah. OKAY. Gotta go to work. Emergency. blah blah blah
Me: WTF? WTF? It's 12:30, blah blah blah, WTF? WTF? WTF?
DH: Bye!
Me: WTF? zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
2:30 a.m.
DOG BARKS. DH HOME.
Me: zzzzzzzzzz...uhhhhhh...WTF?
DH: I'm home. blah blah blah blah. Night.
Me: Night.
Dh: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Me: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
5 a.m.
ALARM CLOCK BLARES
DH: zzzzzzzzzz...hhhhuhhhhhhhh...WTF? Oh, F.
Me: zzzzzzzzzz....oh sheesh. WTF? Already? WTF?
Me: Stumbles to patio to bird cage.
PARROT: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Me: Tosses cover over bird cage
PARROT: zzzzzzzzzz...WTF???
Me: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
DH: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
RING RING RING!!!
Me: zzzz...uhhuh? WTF?
DH: zzzz...uhhhhh...lo? uh...blah blah blah blah. OKAY. Gotta go to work. Emergency. blah blah blah
Me: WTF? WTF? It's 12:30, blah blah blah, WTF? WTF? WTF?
DH: Bye!
Me: WTF? zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
2:30 a.m.
DOG BARKS. DH HOME.
Me: zzzzzzzzzz...uhhhhhh...WTF?
DH: I'm home. blah blah blah blah. Night.
Me: Night.
Dh: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Me: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
5 a.m.
ALARM CLOCK BLARES
DH: zzzzzzzzzz...hhhhuhhhhhhhh...WTF? Oh, F.
Me: zzzzzzzzzz....oh sheesh. WTF? Already? WTF?
Me: Stumbles to patio to bird cage.
PARROT: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Me: Tosses cover over bird cage
PARROT: zzzzzzzzzz...WTF???
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
The perfect man?
His name is Steve. He's been featured on ET (not the alien movie) and he's claimed to have spent nearly $250,000 on plastic surgery. Biceps, pecs lifts. Is a pec lift like a breast lift for men? Would you call that a man tit lift? How do you lift a pec anyway? He's been compared with a Ken doll. You know... Barbie's wussy male counterpart.In my doll days, I stole my bro's GI Joe and had Barbie ride off on her horse with Joe. My Barbie deserved Joe. Ken was too much into competing with her clothing. GI Joe back then was a foot tall. When dolls were men.
Speaking of foot longs... heard on the radio this a.m. that some company is now making condoms just to please South African men. Seems the SA male complains regular sized is too tight. The new condoms accomodate a, um, member that is one foot long and eight inches in circumference. Holy summer sausage, Batman! A FOOT LONG penis?
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Monday, August 22, 2005
Oh, those pesky giant Japanse raccoon testicles!
Good weekend. Still going to Haiti in two weeks. Oy. I need a humorous diversion. Okay then. Japanese cartoons tend to baffle and amuse me. FARK has a great story about a review of a Japanese cartoon released on DVD.
“Heisei tanuki gassen pompoko” was the movie’s Japanese name. “Gassen pompoko.” Sounds what Tia, my female Shih Tzu, does when she’s finished choking down her dinner.
Scott Chitwood, reviewing this movie for Coming Soon.net, writes, “As the movie progressed, an older male raccoon asked all the other male raccoons to sit on a large red carpet. The carpet then transformed and folded up between the male raccoon’s legs. Yes, he transformed his scrotum into a giant carpet. Again, I said, “Was that what I thought it was?!?” It got weirder from there. Later in the film, a bunch of raccoons start flying in formation to attack the humans. Their testicles then swell up to about 10 feet in diameter and they dropped out of the sky and flattened the humans with their massive balls.”
I’ve heard of all kinds of military maneuvers, but never giant raccoon testicles being used as weapons of mass destruction. Hmm. I wonder if the Pentagon is onto this?
Okay, I’ve got a great idea for a new romance novel. It’s “ballsy”.
A romance novel with a muscled, studly hero shapeshifter who changes into a raccoon. His man-part holder swells to ten times its size. Kick Ass Heroine is much impressed when said man-part turns into flying carpet taxicab. He takes her for a magic carpet ride.
Raccoon then does the slow mo move from “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” at the mall when his beloved gets into a catfight with another female shopper over the last pair of Manolo slingbacks. He takes his giant testicles, slaps the bitch silly with them. Whap whap whap. Stunned, she collapses to the floor, muttering about bad LSD flashbacks and resolving never to wear anything but flats again.
But…oh no! The Manolos are GONE! Who took them? Raccoon-Scrotum Man and his sexy chick prowl the mall for the thief, sniffing down clues while stopping at the food court for some marvy cheese fries and having sex in the restroom during which he shapeshifts back to Handsome Hero with a 10-inch dong, but normal sized testicles.
The book ends with a thrilling conclusion of Raccoon-Scrotum Man and Kicking Ass Heroine chasing down the missing Manolos in “Bed, Bath & Beyond” where they are being used as a plant holder. Delighted, kick ass heroine dons shoes; then she and raccoon scrotum man have hot sex in the linens section. The new Manolos leave a heel imprint on the ecru duvets marked half price.
Chick lit paranormal romantic suspense erotic romance. Call it Crotch-swinging Raccoon, Not Hidden, but Dragging.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
“Heisei tanuki gassen pompoko” was the movie’s Japanese name. “Gassen pompoko.” Sounds what Tia, my female Shih Tzu, does when she’s finished choking down her dinner.
Scott Chitwood, reviewing this movie for Coming Soon.net, writes, “As the movie progressed, an older male raccoon asked all the other male raccoons to sit on a large red carpet. The carpet then transformed and folded up between the male raccoon’s legs. Yes, he transformed his scrotum into a giant carpet. Again, I said, “Was that what I thought it was?!?” It got weirder from there. Later in the film, a bunch of raccoons start flying in formation to attack the humans. Their testicles then swell up to about 10 feet in diameter and they dropped out of the sky and flattened the humans with their massive balls.”
I’ve heard of all kinds of military maneuvers, but never giant raccoon testicles being used as weapons of mass destruction. Hmm. I wonder if the Pentagon is onto this?
Okay, I’ve got a great idea for a new romance novel. It’s “ballsy”.
A romance novel with a muscled, studly hero shapeshifter who changes into a raccoon. His man-part holder swells to ten times its size. Kick Ass Heroine is much impressed when said man-part turns into flying carpet taxicab. He takes her for a magic carpet ride.
Raccoon then does the slow mo move from “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” at the mall when his beloved gets into a catfight with another female shopper over the last pair of Manolo slingbacks. He takes his giant testicles, slaps the bitch silly with them. Whap whap whap. Stunned, she collapses to the floor, muttering about bad LSD flashbacks and resolving never to wear anything but flats again.
But…oh no! The Manolos are GONE! Who took them? Raccoon-Scrotum Man and his sexy chick prowl the mall for the thief, sniffing down clues while stopping at the food court for some marvy cheese fries and having sex in the restroom during which he shapeshifts back to Handsome Hero with a 10-inch dong, but normal sized testicles.
The book ends with a thrilling conclusion of Raccoon-Scrotum Man and Kicking Ass Heroine chasing down the missing Manolos in “Bed, Bath & Beyond” where they are being used as a plant holder. Delighted, kick ass heroine dons shoes; then she and raccoon scrotum man have hot sex in the linens section. The new Manolos leave a heel imprint on the ecru duvets marked half price.
Chick lit paranormal romantic suspense erotic romance. Call it Crotch-swinging Raccoon, Not Hidden, but Dragging.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Here's a gift
Leaving soon for a long weekend away. I hope our housesitter won't go nuts with the dogs and the crazy parrot. Until I get back, here's something nice to look at!
http://www.bonnievanak.com'
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Yikes
Definitely going to Haiti next month. Oy. I'm not scared. Nope. Just because a friend's friend was kidnapped last month... nope. So what if they are beating kidnap victims with boards with protruding nails or just killing them?
Nope. Not scared. Gulp. Gulp. Note to self: Take more muscle relaxers.
Nope. Not scared. Gulp. Gulp. Note to self: Take more muscle relaxers.
And now we bring you... the penis
Today I'm thinking of why our culture is obsessed with men's equipment. Last night DH picked up his sinus meds, without looking at the label. When he got into the parking lot he glanced at it. The pharamacist had given him the wrong 'script. He gave him a script for a male enhancement pill.
Dh roared with laughter. He got his sinus pills after exchanging the 'script with the red-faced pharmacist, who apologized. I asked DH, "Hey, if that stuff works on equipment that needs to grow, and you have sinus trouble and take it, does it mean your nose will grow?
It reminded me of something I encountered in my travels. I already blogged about this, but I think it's worth a repeat "performance."
Last year I encountered the penis controversy in Jamaica. In downtown Kingston, near a hotel where we stay when we’re working in the field, there is a park called Emancipation Park. With a bronze sculpture of a naked man and woman. They are facing each other. They are about 11 feet tall. The man’s equipment is displayed to the world and it is rather large equipment indeed.
When I remarked on this to one of my co-workers, she laughed. The penis size stirred a huge controversy in Jamaica. People complained the man’s genitals were “too big.” The sculptor who created the statue says she did not purposely enlarge that particular part and noted how the man has muscles in his torso and butt and the female is also well-endowed.
Of course no one’s complained about the breast size. Just the penis.
The sculpture is supposed to represent freedom from slavery and thus the park’s name, Emancipation Park. One jocular newspaper columnist called it “The emancipated penis.” He noted that simply because European statues have small ones, doesn’t mean Jamaica has to. The Gleaner, the local paper had a column simply titled, “Jamaica Aroused.”
Ironically, there is ANOTHER sculpture of a nude couple, only they complained that man’s equipment was “too small.” If you’ve ever been to Jamaica and flown into Norman Manley airport, you’ll see it on the drive from the airport as the road hooks to the left on the way to Kingston.
Which brings to mind Goldilocks and the three bears. I could steal a line from Sex & the City and call her “Goldicocks,” but I won’t. Goldilocks and the three (what should I call it? Penis? Manhood? Purple warrior? How about Bronzed Male Part?) Bronzed Male Parts. One was too big. One was too small. Surely one could be “just right.” I think they should remove the big guy and replace it with the smaller guy.Then have the classic Bob Marley lyrics underscored beneath the man’s sculpture: “We're coming in from the cold.”
Shrinkage. Solves everything.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Haiti & spam
Funny how life shifts like sand on a dune. Last week I was concerned about my body, the neurologist, yoga, reducing tension in my life. Taking care of me. Writing romance for fun and to ease stress. Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm.
Now all the sudden I may be going to Haiti next month.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Okay, now panic.
Like I said, funny how life shifts. Already I feel the tension back in my neck. Reason we will go? We need to squeeze in a trip before elections in November. Right now we hear it is “calm.” Traveling to Haiti is like that scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indy maneuvers his way through booby traps to get to the grail. You try to dodge the violence, rush there when there is a bit of peace, do all you can as fast as you can, and then rush home.
Spammers have attacked my blog, thus the reason I shut down comments. I am going to leave this post open and see what happens. The minute I get a spam attack, sorry. Comments go. They aren’t even creative spammers, like the types I get on my email account. Did you know all love enhancers can be found on one portal? Or that my wife will find me more attractive if I increase a certain bodily fluid? The big thing now is the spam coming not from Niger. It’s the spam from an “agent in Europe.” Look at this beauty I had to open from a guy named Fagan (like the character in Dicken’s Oliver Twist?) Rooms for girls who want to model? Is that what they are calling it now? I love the chutzpah of these spammers. I just wish they would learn to spell.
HELLO SIR,
MY NAME IS PHIL SANDERS,I AM AN AGENT IN EUROPE ,I NORMALLY
GET ROOMS FOR GIRLS WHO WANT TO MODEL ,SO I HAVE A COMPANY
IN THE U.S. THAT WILL NEED SOME GIRLS WITH A DIFFERENT ROOM
FOR EACH OF THEM, I'M INTERESTED IN THIS YOUR APPARTMENT SO
THAT I CAN REACH THEM EASILY. (Sure Fagan. I bet you want
to "reach" them easily!)
THEY WILL BE COMING BY THE END OF SEPTEMBER BY GOD'S GRACE
.SO LET ME KNOW WHAT IT WILL COST,FOR RENTAGE FOR AT LEAST
6 MONTHS AND OTHER EXPENSES THAT I'M LIKELY TO INCURE SO I
CAN EFFECT PAYMENT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.THE COMPANY
WILL ISSUE YOU A CHECK AS SOON AS WE AGREE ON
TERMS.
AVAIL ME WITH THE NECESSARY DETAILS IMMEDIATELY PLEASE.
BETTER STILL YOUR FULL NAME,CONTACT ADDRESS AND PHONE
NUMBER FOR FAST COMMUNICATION.THANK YOU.
FAGAN
Here's what I would reply:
Dear Fagan,
Girls who want to model? No thanks. Give me ten cute cabana boys with sculpted muscles who will wait on me hand and foot, feed me grapes and frozen cocktails with little yellow umbrellas and maybe we can talk. Better yet, get me a dozen hard-working maids and I will be happy to share my living domicile with them in exchange for housework. You should see all the laundry I have.
Bonnie
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Now all the sudden I may be going to Haiti next month.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Okay, now panic.
Like I said, funny how life shifts. Already I feel the tension back in my neck. Reason we will go? We need to squeeze in a trip before elections in November. Right now we hear it is “calm.” Traveling to Haiti is like that scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indy maneuvers his way through booby traps to get to the grail. You try to dodge the violence, rush there when there is a bit of peace, do all you can as fast as you can, and then rush home.
Spammers have attacked my blog, thus the reason I shut down comments. I am going to leave this post open and see what happens. The minute I get a spam attack, sorry. Comments go. They aren’t even creative spammers, like the types I get on my email account. Did you know all love enhancers can be found on one portal? Or that my wife will find me more attractive if I increase a certain bodily fluid? The big thing now is the spam coming not from Niger. It’s the spam from an “agent in Europe.” Look at this beauty I had to open from a guy named Fagan (like the character in Dicken’s Oliver Twist?) Rooms for girls who want to model? Is that what they are calling it now? I love the chutzpah of these spammers. I just wish they would learn to spell.
HELLO SIR,
MY NAME IS PHIL SANDERS,I AM AN AGENT IN EUROPE ,I NORMALLY
GET ROOMS FOR GIRLS WHO WANT TO MODEL ,SO I HAVE A COMPANY
IN THE U.S. THAT WILL NEED SOME GIRLS WITH A DIFFERENT ROOM
FOR EACH OF THEM, I'M INTERESTED IN THIS YOUR APPARTMENT SO
THAT I CAN REACH THEM EASILY. (Sure Fagan. I bet you want
to "reach" them easily!)
THEY WILL BE COMING BY THE END OF SEPTEMBER BY GOD'S GRACE
.SO LET ME KNOW WHAT IT WILL COST,FOR RENTAGE FOR AT LEAST
6 MONTHS AND OTHER EXPENSES THAT I'M LIKELY TO INCURE SO I
CAN EFFECT PAYMENT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.THE COMPANY
WILL ISSUE YOU A CHECK AS SOON AS WE AGREE ON
TERMS.
AVAIL ME WITH THE NECESSARY DETAILS IMMEDIATELY PLEASE.
BETTER STILL YOUR FULL NAME,CONTACT ADDRESS AND PHONE
NUMBER FOR FAST COMMUNICATION.THANK YOU.
FAGAN
Here's what I would reply:
Dear Fagan,
Girls who want to model? No thanks. Give me ten cute cabana boys with sculpted muscles who will wait on me hand and foot, feed me grapes and frozen cocktails with little yellow umbrellas and maybe we can talk. Better yet, get me a dozen hard-working maids and I will be happy to share my living domicile with them in exchange for housework. You should see all the laundry I have.
Bonnie
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Housework
Ok, I think I need to do laundry. I guess I've let it pile up a tad. I keep trying to get Tia to do the wash, but alas, she can't reach the controls. Must go and strangle parrot now. He is shrieking like mad. Maybe I'll throw him in the washing machine. Set to spin cycle.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Friday, August 12, 2005
Save RWA or the Pain in the Ass bird?
I don't believe this... Checked on Save Toby.com to see how my favorite furry bunny is doing...
And he's getting a book published. By Kensington.
Toby the Rabbit, whose owner has a website to raise money to save his rabbit or he will become rabbit stew, will be famous. In a book. His owner has a book contract.
As it says on the web site, "The book agreement with James and Brian extends Toby's execution date until Thanksgiving Day of 2006. If 100,000 copies of the book SAVE TOBY! are sold by that date, the rabbit's life will be spared. Otherwise, the rabbit is Thanksgiving dinner. The message to readers is simple: Only you can save Toby...the book, to be published in September, is a guide to the ins and outs of Toby, his likes, dislikes, photos, recipes and the story of how he came into the hands of James and Brian."
Okay, I'm going to start a web site. Save the Pain in the Ass Bird.com. If I don't raise $100,000 by the end of the year, or if I don't get a new book contract by then, the parrot is flying to birdie heaven. He's gonna squawk out his last "FU!" to the world.
Hey, if Toby's owner can do it with his rabbit, I can do it with the damn bird. I figure I'll win anyway.
Anyone know any good recipes for parrot stew? Parrot a 'orange? Parrot de jour?
Then again, I realize how selfish I am. If I want to save something that is in danger of dying, shouldn't it be for the betterment of my fellow human beings? (Although killing the parrot would make my irritated neighbors very very grateful)
So maybe I'll do a Save RWA. com site. Hmmm. Something to think about.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
And he's getting a book published. By Kensington.
Toby the Rabbit, whose owner has a website to raise money to save his rabbit or he will become rabbit stew, will be famous. In a book. His owner has a book contract.
As it says on the web site, "The book agreement with James and Brian extends Toby's execution date until Thanksgiving Day of 2006. If 100,000 copies of the book SAVE TOBY! are sold by that date, the rabbit's life will be spared. Otherwise, the rabbit is Thanksgiving dinner. The message to readers is simple: Only you can save Toby...the book, to be published in September, is a guide to the ins and outs of Toby, his likes, dislikes, photos, recipes and the story of how he came into the hands of James and Brian."
Okay, I'm going to start a web site. Save the Pain in the Ass Bird.com. If I don't raise $100,000 by the end of the year, or if I don't get a new book contract by then, the parrot is flying to birdie heaven. He's gonna squawk out his last "FU!" to the world.
Hey, if Toby's owner can do it with his rabbit, I can do it with the damn bird. I figure I'll win anyway.
Anyone know any good recipes for parrot stew? Parrot a 'orange? Parrot de jour?
Then again, I realize how selfish I am. If I want to save something that is in danger of dying, shouldn't it be for the betterment of my fellow human beings? (Although killing the parrot would make my irritated neighbors very very grateful)
So maybe I'll do a Save RWA. com site. Hmmm. Something to think about.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Anticlimax
Me to hubby: "What were you planning on doing tonight?"Hubby: "I was planning to strip you naked, turn you upside down and lick you from head to toe... but I hurt my foot at work and I think I'll just lie on the couch."
Me: "arrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggh!!!"
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Look ma! I'm a pretzel!
Finally, I can type. Yay.
Results from tests? I have muscle spasms. Think someone jamming a spike directly into your body, the muscle tightening... that's it. The good news is... cervical disc disease? The neurologist shook her head, said I'm too tense.
Too tense. It's made me do some serious thinking about my life, and what direction I want...
She gave me a script for muscle relaxers, advised wearing the cervical collar when I'm traveling in the Third World, and told me to try yoga. I went to my first yoga class tonight. Unfortunately, they called it "beginner/intermediate" but everyone was advanced. So they are doing these positions in which they twist their bodies and turn their legs and I'm trying to plod along, twist my leg this way and I look like a frantic human pretzel.
In the meantime, I'm testing out a new yoga class later this week. And I have these loverly muscle relaxers which are supposed to make me sleepy so she warned me do NOT use them during the day but I really can't see how they would put me to sleep because I feel...i mean, i'm not sleepy at all, whatz the helz was she talking....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Results from tests? I have muscle spasms. Think someone jamming a spike directly into your body, the muscle tightening... that's it. The good news is... cervical disc disease? The neurologist shook her head, said I'm too tense.
Too tense. It's made me do some serious thinking about my life, and what direction I want...
She gave me a script for muscle relaxers, advised wearing the cervical collar when I'm traveling in the Third World, and told me to try yoga. I went to my first yoga class tonight. Unfortunately, they called it "beginner/intermediate" but everyone was advanced. So they are doing these positions in which they twist their bodies and turn their legs and I'm trying to plod along, twist my leg this way and I look like a frantic human pretzel.
In the meantime, I'm testing out a new yoga class later this week. And I have these loverly muscle relaxers which are supposed to make me sleepy so she warned me do NOT use them during the day but I really can't see how they would put me to sleep because I feel...i mean, i'm not sleepy at all, whatz the helz was she talking....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Monday, August 08, 2005
ouch
short blog, no caps today. i'm e.e. cummings for now.
tests went okay...first was just electrical pulses, like getting tiny shocks. second was a bit worse, needles stuck into skin and muscles, the neurologist listened for nerve damage. kinda cool, actually how the static increases when the muscle is strained. the worst was when she stuck the needle directly into a nerve. I felt it all the way up my arm to my neck. yeow! but even that wasn't too bad...except now my fingers hurt and i'm getting tiny painful muscle spasms in hands and arms. so i'm providing a link to some nice eye candy on another blog -- the bandwagon. Mary likes Gerard B as much as I do and she has great pix. I love the photo she posted on August 5. check it out!
http://www.bonnievanak.com
tests went okay...first was just electrical pulses, like getting tiny shocks. second was a bit worse, needles stuck into skin and muscles, the neurologist listened for nerve damage. kinda cool, actually how the static increases when the muscle is strained. the worst was when she stuck the needle directly into a nerve. I felt it all the way up my arm to my neck. yeow! but even that wasn't too bad...except now my fingers hurt and i'm getting tiny painful muscle spasms in hands and arms. so i'm providing a link to some nice eye candy on another blog -- the bandwagon. Mary likes Gerard B as much as I do and she has great pix. I love the photo she posted on August 5. check it out!
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Short post today. Trying to get edits done on my Ellora's Cave quickie before Monday when they shove needles into my muscles. I think when they are done, I may end up with a new look. Like this. Just don't get any magnets near me or we'll end up having a love fest.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Author's house burnt down
Dorchester author Marianne Mancusi returned from Reno and RWA to find out her house burnt down. She lost everything. To help, check out this link. They are having an online auction for her, or you may send gift certificates directly to Marianne.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
A suggestion for RWA
RWA does it again… the latest stirrings are about the GH/RITA awards ceremony. By now many have heard about Nora and Jennifer Crusie's letters (two very classy ladies). I’m not offering a Wednesday morning quarterback commentary. All I can suggest is RWA totally change the ceremony next year.
My suggestion: Have half-naked muscled men in fire engine red thongs present the awards. Strip away ALL taste from the awards presentation. Imagine the scene… A totally clueless, tall he-man, muscles glistening beneath the spotlights, strides onto stage, flexing his biceps. He takes the RITA statuette and goes to hand it to the winner…
Mr. Pecs: “Here yah go, honeybuns. Uh, dunno what the hell this statue is for. What is a RITA anyway?”
Winner, grimacing. “Eeeew. My RITA is covered with… man sweat!”
Mr. Pecs: “That’s not man sweat, honeybuns. That’s Wesson. I always oil myself before coming onstage. I have Wessonality. Hey, wanna see what I can do?”
Winner, dumbfounded, watching Mr. Pecs flex one man titty and then the other. “OMG. That’s, that’s…”
Mr. Pecs, grinning: “Betcha you can’t do that with your boobs, honeybuns. See what a round of steroids and some quality gym time can do?”
Winner, frowning: “Steroids? Well if you’re on steroids, then that bulge must be…”
She dives for his thong in a sudden move, reaches in and pulls out… dozens of missing ballots from the RWA presidential election.
Winner, sighing and tossing ballots in the air: “I knew it. “
Mr. Pecs, turning beet red, trying to catch ballots: “Gimme back my man-stuffing!”
http://www.bonnievanak.com
My suggestion: Have half-naked muscled men in fire engine red thongs present the awards. Strip away ALL taste from the awards presentation. Imagine the scene… A totally clueless, tall he-man, muscles glistening beneath the spotlights, strides onto stage, flexing his biceps. He takes the RITA statuette and goes to hand it to the winner…
Mr. Pecs: “Here yah go, honeybuns. Uh, dunno what the hell this statue is for. What is a RITA anyway?”
Winner, grimacing. “Eeeew. My RITA is covered with… man sweat!”
Mr. Pecs: “That’s not man sweat, honeybuns. That’s Wesson. I always oil myself before coming onstage. I have Wessonality. Hey, wanna see what I can do?”
Winner, dumbfounded, watching Mr. Pecs flex one man titty and then the other. “OMG. That’s, that’s…”
Mr. Pecs, grinning: “Betcha you can’t do that with your boobs, honeybuns. See what a round of steroids and some quality gym time can do?”
Winner, frowning: “Steroids? Well if you’re on steroids, then that bulge must be…”
She dives for his thong in a sudden move, reaches in and pulls out… dozens of missing ballots from the RWA presidential election.
Winner, sighing and tossing ballots in the air: “I knew it. “
Mr. Pecs, turning beet red, trying to catch ballots: “Gimme back my man-stuffing!”
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Islam, sex & plotting your novel
Short blog today, neck pain & carpal tunnel. I'm posting this link to a Salon.com article. Fascinating reading about how traditional Islam celebrated women & sex.
Also, here's a good article on outlining your novel by Alicia Rasley. She gives a great exercise you can easily follow along, asking thought-provoking questions. It’s a great way to jump start a story.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Also, here's a good article on outlining your novel by Alicia Rasley. She gives a great exercise you can easily follow along, asking thought-provoking questions. It’s a great way to jump start a story.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Sunday, July 31, 2005
REAL RWA news you can use
Blog slogging and found some very useful info on the RWA conference. Check out Alison Kent’s blog. She narrows down the best blogs with the best market news. Thanks Alison!
Of all these, I think Helen Kay Dimon has the most in-depth news on what’s happening or what advice best-selling authors have. Check out her blog here.
That’s it for now. Must get off computer. My neck feels like a road show of Manolo-stomping chorus girls are doing the Riverdance on it.
Of all these, I think Helen Kay Dimon has the most in-depth news on what’s happening or what advice best-selling authors have. Check out her blog here.
That’s it for now. Must get off computer. My neck feels like a road show of Manolo-stomping chorus girls are doing the Riverdance on it.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Report NOT from Reno; Editor/Agent Appointments or the Time Traveling Cuke that resembles Oded
Ah yes, the highlight for many writers at RWA. The editor/agent appointment. Having been on the writer's side of the table many times, I thought I'd imagine a scenario from the editor's side of it. The nightmare pitch.
Writer comes to editor’s little table, smiles politely. Starts talking about how great the hotel is, the bar, and so sorry, she didn’t mean to STALK Editor in the lobby last night, she was just getting a feel for what editor looked like so she could best prepare for her appointment and did Editor know this hotel has simply marvy pina coladas? Editor says very politely that she doesn’t drink and asks writer what she is working on.
Writer: “I have a story about a time traveling cucumber. A woman, who prefers natural relief over battery-operated, keeps this very large green cuke in her fridge. One night as she is fetching it, she notices the cuke bears a distinct impression of Oded Fehr’s face. She says, “Oded!” and suddenly she is transported back in time to ancient Rome where she meets this barbarian in a toga who used to be a Navy Seal, but he traveled back in time. So now he’s a gladiator and he gets into the ring with these big guys who all are converted Christians and they refuse to fight, but the gladiator HAS to fight them or he’ll be slain by the mad hippos that the Romans let loose in the arena…”
Editor: “Hippos? Um, the Romans sent lions into the arena to eat Christians.”
Writer: “Oh yeah, but that is BORING. So I’m changing history. So anyway the Christians run away from the hippos but the Navy Seal barbarian gladiator escapes from the ring and the hippos, who end up eating the Christians…”
Editor: “Hippos are herbivores. They don't eat meat.”
Writer: “Oh? Okay, I can change that. Maybe they just maul them to death. Well then the Navy Seal barbarian gladiator finds the heroine, who is clutching her cucumber and he realizes she’s from the same time period and they get together and start talking about sushi and how they both like to watch the Jerry Springer show.”
Editor: “Um, um, where’s the romance?”
Writer: “With the barbarian gladiator. Oh, and he resembles Russell Crowe.”
Editor (gritting teeth and smiling): “Okay, what about the conflict?”
Writer: “It’s all about a fight over the magical traveling cucumber. See the hero, the barbarian gladiator tries to get it back from the heroine so he can travel back to his day and age because he was on a mission to fight union terrorists in Reno. They’ve taken over the casinos and every time someone gets a triple 7 on a slot machine, the slot machine spews red paint all over their clothing and a programmed voice shrieks, ‘Stop buying imported clothing made in Guatemala! Look for the union label!’
So the heroine and the hero are fighting all over the cucumber, and then they get into bed and have great sex and the heroine realizes she doesn’t need the cucumber anymore, because the hero is much better and besides, no refrigeration needed. Then after sex, they smoke a cigarette and have a snack.”
Editor: “Uh… What happens to the cucumber?”
Writer: “The barbarian eats it.”
Editor (frantically glancing at time keeper and praying the five minutes is up): "Well, it sounds, er, interesting, but we publish only contemporary inspirational romance that do not have any loves scenes and I think…"
Writer: “Oh, but you see, my book is all that! It’s got a heroine who lives in contemporary times before she time travels and then it’s got Christians as well! Virgin Christians!”
Editor: (feeling the beginning of a migraine) “But the hippos eat, er, I mean they maul the Christians to death.”
Writer (looking thoughtful) “You do have a point there. Maybe I can have the hippos spare the Christians after the Christians convert them. I think you should publish this book. It’s got everything and I know if you publish it, I’ll get on the NY Times best-selling list and it’s sure to be nominated for a RITA.”
Editor (looking desperate) “I need a drink.”
Writer (frowning): “I thought you didn’t drink.”
Editor: “I do now.”
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Thursday, July 28, 2005
I'm NOT in Reno, part deux
PW has an entertaining blog post on why not to be in Reno. Check it out. I almost had forgotten about the rubber chicken.
Workshops, though. I do miss the workshops. RWA has terrific workshops where you can learn a lot. But there are workshops you will never find at an RWA conference. Like these.
1) Your hero’s wiener: How small is too small? Does size really matter?
2) Paperweights are fun! Writing the manuscript that will sit on an agent’s desk forever.
3) The Regency Joy of peeing in a chamber pot
4) Inspirational workshop: Is satan really such a bad ass dude?
5) Pitching a story to a Big Deal Editor over lunch while speaking with your mouth filled with
rubber chicken. It’s really the manuscript that matters.
6) How to stalk an agent into the ladies room and strike up a conversation while in the next stall.
7) Spanking the monkey: writing the self-gratifying erotic romance
8) The time traveling chick lit: Manolo heel imprints on the ceiling of my Neanderthal’s cave.
9) Eliminating conflict from your story: Can’t they just be friends?
10) Writing the impotent Alpha hero that will sell.
11) Manuscript presentation: Pointers on writing a single-spaced manuscript in script font
12) Paranormal panel: Writing the inspirational vampire
13) How to switch POV in mid-sentence
14) Creating the TSTL whining, weak-kneed virgin heroine
15) Why you will never be me so just suck up and buy my books: A day in the life of a
egomanical best-selling author
16) Show me the debt! How to survive on eating cat food so you can enter gadzillions of RWA contests and try to get published
And sadly, the workshop you will never see, at least this year…
17: The sweet historical romance: a hot new market for the times.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Workshops, though. I do miss the workshops. RWA has terrific workshops where you can learn a lot. But there are workshops you will never find at an RWA conference. Like these.
1) Your hero’s wiener: How small is too small? Does size really matter?
2) Paperweights are fun! Writing the manuscript that will sit on an agent’s desk forever.
3) The Regency Joy of peeing in a chamber pot
4) Inspirational workshop: Is satan really such a bad ass dude?
5) Pitching a story to a Big Deal Editor over lunch while speaking with your mouth filled with
rubber chicken. It’s really the manuscript that matters.
6) How to stalk an agent into the ladies room and strike up a conversation while in the next stall.
7) Spanking the monkey: writing the self-gratifying erotic romance
8) The time traveling chick lit: Manolo heel imprints on the ceiling of my Neanderthal’s cave.
9) Eliminating conflict from your story: Can’t they just be friends?
10) Writing the impotent Alpha hero that will sell.
11) Manuscript presentation: Pointers on writing a single-spaced manuscript in script font
12) Paranormal panel: Writing the inspirational vampire
13) How to switch POV in mid-sentence
14) Creating the TSTL whining, weak-kneed virgin heroine
15) Why you will never be me so just suck up and buy my books: A day in the life of a
egomanical best-selling author
16) Show me the debt! How to survive on eating cat food so you can enter gadzillions of RWA contests and try to get published
And sadly, the workshop you will never see, at least this year…
17: The sweet historical romance: a hot new market for the times.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
I'm NOT in Reno
Thought I’d post a report from an author NOT in Reno at the RWA national conference. No hanging out at the bar, no book signing today, no worrying about a dress for the awards ceremony, no meeting with friends, no lining up to get a signed copy of Suz Brockman’s newest. Nope.
Instead, today I went to the neurologist. Very, very nice lady, practical, upfront and professional. I like her a lot. She’s ordered a nasty test that will pinpoint muscle damage, etc. Basically they will stick me with needles and then send tiny electrical shocks through my body.
She warned me, “It’s painful.”
When a doctor tells you it’s painful, you know it’s not a trip to Disney.
I thought about it though. I’m not really concerned. I could be stocking up on Crayolas to write with just in case the technician gets too happy with the current and I end up drooling all over myself and saying things like, “I love lima beans.”
But… there is worse stuff getting news that they are going to wire me up like Frankenstein’s monster and zap me with electricity like some mad patient whose brain cells need unscrambling. I could compare it to being in Reno this week and the worst that could happen there, which would feel LIKE painful electrical shocks following these revelations. For example…
1) I run into my editor, a very nice guy, and he tells me, “Hey Bonnie, I read your option about Rashid, and to tell you the truth, I got distracted reading the emergency exit instructions in my office because they were much more interesting than your manuscript. I phoned your agent and told him if I ever have to read another manuscript of yours, I think I’ll gouge my eyeballs out.”
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt! Zap! Yeow! Yikes!!!
2) In the smoke-filled bar I see Teresa Medeiros, one of my favorite authors. In a forgetful moment I gush and turn into Stark Raving Fangirl about how great her books are. She retreats in horror and runs and hides among the urinals in the men’s room to avoid me.
Zap zap zap! Yikes!
3) My author friends, Pamela Clare, Alice Gaines, Linda Broday, and others consort to tell me the wrong place to meet for drinks so they don’t have to see me. Like in Missouri. In December.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt! Ouch! Ouch!
4) My editor from Ellora’s Cave, a very nice lady, sees me in the bar babbling to myself, wondering if my friends really DID mean to meet them in Missouri. She says she changed her mind about publishing my vampire story and that I’m the first author she’s ever encountered who can write a boring, celibate vampire... with a very tiny winkie.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzap!!!! Yikes!
5) I am trapped in an elevator during a sudden power blackout with a group of opinionated drunk women who just left the bar, who find out I write for Ellora’s Cave. They try to baptize me with their wine spritzers, shrieking at me, “YOU DO NOT WRITE ROMANCE! YOU WRITE PORN!”
Zap zap zap! Ouch!
6) I leave a copy of THE COBRA & THE CONCUBINE on my nightstand and the maid leaves me a polite note. “Read it. It sucked. Can I have my money back?”
Zap! Zzzt! Zzzzzzzzzzzzt! Ouch! Yikes!
7) And worst of the worst of the worst… I attend the Saturday night RITA awards to cheer on my fellow Dorchester authors who are up for a RITA… And they announce the winner in ALL the categories is…
Danielle Steel.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt! YOW!!!!!
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Instead, today I went to the neurologist. Very, very nice lady, practical, upfront and professional. I like her a lot. She’s ordered a nasty test that will pinpoint muscle damage, etc. Basically they will stick me with needles and then send tiny electrical shocks through my body.
She warned me, “It’s painful.”
When a doctor tells you it’s painful, you know it’s not a trip to Disney.
I thought about it though. I’m not really concerned. I could be stocking up on Crayolas to write with just in case the technician gets too happy with the current and I end up drooling all over myself and saying things like, “I love lima beans.”
But… there is worse stuff getting news that they are going to wire me up like Frankenstein’s monster and zap me with electricity like some mad patient whose brain cells need unscrambling. I could compare it to being in Reno this week and the worst that could happen there, which would feel LIKE painful electrical shocks following these revelations. For example…
1) I run into my editor, a very nice guy, and he tells me, “Hey Bonnie, I read your option about Rashid, and to tell you the truth, I got distracted reading the emergency exit instructions in my office because they were much more interesting than your manuscript. I phoned your agent and told him if I ever have to read another manuscript of yours, I think I’ll gouge my eyeballs out.”
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt! Zap! Yeow! Yikes!!!
2) In the smoke-filled bar I see Teresa Medeiros, one of my favorite authors. In a forgetful moment I gush and turn into Stark Raving Fangirl about how great her books are. She retreats in horror and runs and hides among the urinals in the men’s room to avoid me.
Zap zap zap! Yikes!
3) My author friends, Pamela Clare, Alice Gaines, Linda Broday, and others consort to tell me the wrong place to meet for drinks so they don’t have to see me. Like in Missouri. In December.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt! Ouch! Ouch!
4) My editor from Ellora’s Cave, a very nice lady, sees me in the bar babbling to myself, wondering if my friends really DID mean to meet them in Missouri. She says she changed her mind about publishing my vampire story and that I’m the first author she’s ever encountered who can write a boring, celibate vampire... with a very tiny winkie.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzap!!!! Yikes!
5) I am trapped in an elevator during a sudden power blackout with a group of opinionated drunk women who just left the bar, who find out I write for Ellora’s Cave. They try to baptize me with their wine spritzers, shrieking at me, “YOU DO NOT WRITE ROMANCE! YOU WRITE PORN!”
Zap zap zap! Ouch!
6) I leave a copy of THE COBRA & THE CONCUBINE on my nightstand and the maid leaves me a polite note. “Read it. It sucked. Can I have my money back?”
Zap! Zzzt! Zzzzzzzzzzzzt! Ouch! Yikes!
7) And worst of the worst of the worst… I attend the Saturday night RITA awards to cheer on my fellow Dorchester authors who are up for a RITA… And they announce the winner in ALL the categories is…
Danielle Steel.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt! YOW!!!!!
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Monday, July 25, 2005
SNARK ATTACK!
Yesterday DH and I visited the beach, all warm, smooth sand, a garden of colorful beach umbrellas, and the burning sun frying us to a crisp. I had gotten distressing news that my hand numbness is a result of cervical disc disease. This week I’m seeing a neurologist. I must curtail my computer time as well.
In the meantime, we had to cancel our plans to go jet skiing, but opted to visit the beach instead. All I wanted was to float in the ocean, let the water bathe me in saline buoyancy. With temps soaring over 100 degrees at our house, we basked in the cooler ocean breeze and then ventured into the turquoise waters.
Some days, I love living in Florida.
We’re bobbing up and down in the gentle surf, talking, and yet all the while I’m aware of the recent shark attacks and the sightings of bull sharks in our hometown only a few weeks ago. But being a brave Floridian, I keep swimming and then all the sudden…
I see it.
Blood turns to ice in my veins. I am immobilized with fear. I try to speak, but a whimpering gasp flees my trembling lips. DH looks at me in concern and says, “What is it?”
Finally in a tiny, breathless voice, I whisper, “Snark.”
Dh turns paler than ivory soap. “Oh-My-God.”
“Just ignore it and maybe it will swim away,” I tell him, knowing it is swimming even closer.
But I know the truth… it won’t. It’s there in black and white, the chortling swirl of snark floating like dead seaweed. It’s the ongoing, never-ending comments by some authors about WHY RWA should NEVER have allowed Ellora’s Cave to join its ranks as a recognized publisher of romance or HOW those covers are nothing but PORN and Ellora’s Cave writes nothing but PORN and PORN doesn’t belong in RWA. It’s swimming near me, the yawning black-mouthed cavern of contemptuous remarks… and I just want it to go away. I don’t understand this warped animal. I’m an author who respects all genres, even if I don’t read them or want to write them. I just want the snark to start feeding on itself like the big ugly snark it is, cannibalizing until it belches or goes Yark all over itself.
But it’s still circling in the water.
“Hit it on the nose and maybe it will retreat,” suggests DH.
With the heel of my hand, I smack it. It retreats a bit and makes a yipping, cowardly sound, but then continues its circling.
“There’s only one thing to do. I have to do it,” DH says with a resigned look.
I cry out. “I can’t have you sacrifice yourself.”
“It’s all right,” he says soothingly. “If it will make it go away for you, I’ll do it.”
My eyes water with tears. My big, brave husband, I love him so much. Dh takes a deep breath, and then…
He divests himself of his swim trunks.
The snark circling us shrieks, “OH NO! NAKED MAN, NAKED MAN! I can’t stand to look at a NAKED MAN!”
Suddenly the snark swims away, leaving us in quiet, peaceful waters once more. DH dons his swim trunks. I embrace him. “My hero,” I cry out. “Thank you for rescuing me!”
He gives a modest shrug. “Any time.”
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Thursday, July 21, 2005
What if all of Houston's population died?
Today I read a heartbreaking statistic.
Writing a brochure about Haiti, I came across a stat that said 28 percent of Haiti’s children under five die of starvation. That amounts to about 2 million children.
A statistic is just a number. You have to translate that number into meaning to give it the true impact.
Take the city, Houston, TX, with its population of 2 million (US census 2002). Now imagine the entire city populated by pre-school children under the age of 5. Two million innocent children.
Now, wipe them off the face of the earth after they die a slow, lingering, very painful death from starvation.
Two million smiles and laughter, two million faces gone forever.
Two million children dead from hunger.
Those are the empty, silent cries of hunger in Haiti.
Writing a brochure about Haiti, I came across a stat that said 28 percent of Haiti’s children under five die of starvation. That amounts to about 2 million children.
A statistic is just a number. You have to translate that number into meaning to give it the true impact.
Take the city, Houston, TX, with its population of 2 million (US census 2002). Now imagine the entire city populated by pre-school children under the age of 5. Two million innocent children.
Now, wipe them off the face of the earth after they die a slow, lingering, very painful death from starvation.
Two million smiles and laughter, two million faces gone forever.
Two million children dead from hunger.
Those are the empty, silent cries of hunger in Haiti.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Naked butts, medical stuff, etc.
I don't know why I'm so attracted to men's tight naked butts. Give me the posterior any day over the frontal. There is just something about the squeezable gluteus maximus... hmmm... sounds like circus maximus... maybe a title for a medieval romance? SEDUCING THE GLUTEUS MAXIMUS. In ancient Rome, Phoebe finds herself in the amphitheater, tossed to the lions, aka Tony, Dave and Mike, the famed naked GLUTEUS MAXIMUS gladiators. To win her freedom and avoid being eaten alive, she must squeeze their butt muscles until their facial expressions (or something else) twitches. Then again, perhaps Phoebe does not mind being eaten alive by the infamous trio...
Went to the MD today and she suggested my wrist/finger numbness and tingling may be a neck problem. So I'll be wearing a cervical collar to see if that reduces the pain that flares up now and then.
My other personality, Blair Valentine, had started writing another fairy tale erotic romance but stopped. She's a bit weary and has suddenly realized Bonnie at the day job has a deskload of work and it's not good to have wrist and hand pain. So I've stopped writing romance at night for now to give both Bonnie and Blair a break.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Went to the MD today and she suggested my wrist/finger numbness and tingling may be a neck problem. So I'll be wearing a cervical collar to see if that reduces the pain that flares up now and then.
My other personality, Blair Valentine, had started writing another fairy tale erotic romance but stopped. She's a bit weary and has suddenly realized Bonnie at the day job has a deskload of work and it's not good to have wrist and hand pain. So I've stopped writing romance at night for now to give both Bonnie and Blair a break.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
I feel violated
Someone stole DH's credit card number, made a fake card and ran up our bill with purchases at Walmart and a Latin restaurant.
I bet they went to Walmart and didn't even buy my book, sons of whey-faced rats they are.
I'm pretty depressed right now. Between news of Dawn's death, and now this... Having Dh's credit card number stolen makes me feel violated. We work very hard for our money. DH works hard, and I have a day job in addition to writing romance. We are not rich, contrary to what some people think when they discover I write romance. Yeah, I had a couple of my historicals for sale in Walmart. Very cool. No, I'm not ready to start my own reality TV show called Who wants to be a Vanak?
More likely, "Who wants to be in debt and clean up dog yark from the carpet?"
It's not the first time I've been robbed. Years ago, I was helping out at a charity event, setting up for a black tie dinner when someone stole my purse from a very posh ballroom. I thought it was safely stowed beneath a table skirt. But someone had been watching, and it vanished, along with stuff I can never replace. Forget the hassle of the credit cards, money, etc. I had two rosaries in that purse. One was made by my aunt, a Dominican nun, for my wedding. She died before the wedding. The other belonged to my grandmother, also dead. When the police called and told me they found my purse, I was overjoyed and so hopeful. I retrieved it and dug through it. Here's the irony... everything was inside it, but the rosaries, the only items I really wanted back. The very personal gift my aunt, the nun, had made me was gone. I cried and cried over the loss. The rosaries were probably sold in some pawn shop, somewhere. I highly doubt it was a good Catholic who just wanted to pray a lot.
So here I am again, feeling icky and violated because someone stole from us. Like before, I feel like retreating from the world and the icky people in it. No more blogging, posting updates on my website, just retreat from the public and vanish. I just have to remember there are good people out there. But on days like today, it's tough. Very tough.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
I bet they went to Walmart and didn't even buy my book, sons of whey-faced rats they are.
I'm pretty depressed right now. Between news of Dawn's death, and now this... Having Dh's credit card number stolen makes me feel violated. We work very hard for our money. DH works hard, and I have a day job in addition to writing romance. We are not rich, contrary to what some people think when they discover I write romance. Yeah, I had a couple of my historicals for sale in Walmart. Very cool. No, I'm not ready to start my own reality TV show called Who wants to be a Vanak?
More likely, "Who wants to be in debt and clean up dog yark from the carpet?"
It's not the first time I've been robbed. Years ago, I was helping out at a charity event, setting up for a black tie dinner when someone stole my purse from a very posh ballroom. I thought it was safely stowed beneath a table skirt. But someone had been watching, and it vanished, along with stuff I can never replace. Forget the hassle of the credit cards, money, etc. I had two rosaries in that purse. One was made by my aunt, a Dominican nun, for my wedding. She died before the wedding. The other belonged to my grandmother, also dead. When the police called and told me they found my purse, I was overjoyed and so hopeful. I retrieved it and dug through it. Here's the irony... everything was inside it, but the rosaries, the only items I really wanted back. The very personal gift my aunt, the nun, had made me was gone. I cried and cried over the loss. The rosaries were probably sold in some pawn shop, somewhere. I highly doubt it was a good Catholic who just wanted to pray a lot.
So here I am again, feeling icky and violated because someone stole from us. Like before, I feel like retreating from the world and the icky people in it. No more blogging, posting updates on my website, just retreat from the public and vanish. I just have to remember there are good people out there. But on days like today, it's tough. Very tough.
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Monday, July 18, 2005
Then, again maybe the meaning of life is...
A fine naked ass. Like Oded's. Up against the wall and spread 'em. Like good artwork, a man's bottom can lift a downtrodden spirit. Life is too damn short not to appreciate the finer things it has to offer. This one's for you, Dawn. I think it would make you smile. I'll miss you. :-(
Bonnie
Rage, rage against the dying of the light
I’m sitting here a bit shell-shocked. Today I received some news that a friend’s wife, also a fan of mine, died suddenly. Cancer. Diagnosed only three months ago, she developed a sudden infection and died. She was one of the most generous and kindest women I’ve known. Never had a mean thing to say about anyone. Helped out at animal shelters, finding homes for strays. A decent human being with a big heart.
She loved my first book, my second book, and she was looking forward to reading COBRA, my third. She never got the chance. She was diagnosed the month it came out.
Lately I’ve been struggling a lot with the meaning of my life. My last trip to Nicaragua raised some thought-provoking questions. I feel restless and uncertain. I’m struggling with a mid-life and spiritual crisis. Should I be doing this? Or that? What direction should I take? Should I continue with writing romance and trying to get published? Or delve into something entirely different? Introspection, self-examination.
And then I get news like today and I realize how precious little time we all have. Maybe the lesson is, live your life as if you’re going to die tomorrow. Because you just never know. You might.
She loved my first book, my second book, and she was looking forward to reading COBRA, my third. She never got the chance. She was diagnosed the month it came out.
Lately I’ve been struggling a lot with the meaning of my life. My last trip to Nicaragua raised some thought-provoking questions. I feel restless and uncertain. I’m struggling with a mid-life and spiritual crisis. Should I be doing this? Or that? What direction should I take? Should I continue with writing romance and trying to get published? Or delve into something entirely different? Introspection, self-examination.
And then I get news like today and I realize how precious little time we all have. Maybe the lesson is, live your life as if you’re going to die tomorrow. Because you just never know. You might.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Defiant and damn proud of it
Well, not if it gets me fired, lol...
Decided I was going to find a home after all for my Ellora's Cave calendar I had hanging up at work I was forced to remove. Where? My office at work, of course. Behind the door, where the map of Haiti used to hang. The map of Haiti everyone in my department always comes in to consult. I took down the map, hung up Mr. July, CJ Hollenbach, naked chest and all.
So this morning, my office mate and I have the door closed... which means, since our wall facing the hallway is glass... you can see what's on the wall behind the door when door is closed. The photographer I work with is strolling by, does a double take. He raps on the glass, points to CJ and says, "Uh, interesting map'."
Yeah, interesting map. Hee hee!
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Is that a banana in your towel or...
Started writing another erotic romance... paranormal fairy tale. In the meantime, I offer some eye candy. This is James Purefoy, who was in RESIDENT EVIL. Now just imagine moving the towel a tad over...mmmm...
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Buh bye Dennis, hello Emily?
Maybe I should spend the rest of hurricane season in a drunken stupor...
Dennis missed us, of course. A little wussy puff of wind that knocked out power for 4 minutes, but sent DH scurrying to the hospital to work when the AC failed for the whole damn building! At 5 AM!!!
So we waved good bye to Dennis, glad to see that the damage to the Keys and the panhandle wasn't that bad. And now Emily has popped up on the horizon.
Looks like this season will be as bad as last season. I really think that a magnum of 12-year-old Nicaraguan or Jamaican rum is in order. With a straw. I'll just sit sipping it for the next five months, watch the Weather Channel in a drunken stupor, give up writing romance and the day job, and wait for disaster to drop upon my door. And for that damn tree, which we keep forgetting to trim, to fall on the newly repaired roof. I can't even count on hurricane sex, which everyone else has, because hubby has to WORK during a storm.
Damn hurricanes. They ruin everything, even my sex life!
Maybe we should move to Alaska, which may not be such a bad idea. I mean, they have mosquitoes bigger than my fist, but hey, so does Florida.
Dennis missed us, of course. A little wussy puff of wind that knocked out power for 4 minutes, but sent DH scurrying to the hospital to work when the AC failed for the whole damn building! At 5 AM!!!
So we waved good bye to Dennis, glad to see that the damage to the Keys and the panhandle wasn't that bad. And now Emily has popped up on the horizon.
Looks like this season will be as bad as last season. I really think that a magnum of 12-year-old Nicaraguan or Jamaican rum is in order. With a straw. I'll just sit sipping it for the next five months, watch the Weather Channel in a drunken stupor, give up writing romance and the day job, and wait for disaster to drop upon my door. And for that damn tree, which we keep forgetting to trim, to fall on the newly repaired roof. I can't even count on hurricane sex, which everyone else has, because hubby has to WORK during a storm.
Damn hurricanes. They ruin everything, even my sex life!
Maybe we should move to Alaska, which may not be such a bad idea. I mean, they have mosquitoes bigger than my fist, but hey, so does Florida.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Here we go... again...
Hurricane Dennis on its way... Fla keys being evacuated south of the seven mile bridge. Up here we'll probably get gusty winds and 5 inches of rain. Hope Cindy C and Mary Stella will be okay. I LOATHE hurricane season!
In other news, my deepest sympathies to victims and their families of the terrorist attacks in London. We grieve with you. If only people would spend half their energies on love as much as hate, wouldn't the world be a better place? Sigh...
http://www.bonnievanak.com
In other news, my deepest sympathies to victims and their families of the terrorist attacks in London. We grieve with you. If only people would spend half their energies on love as much as hate, wouldn't the world be a better place? Sigh...
http://www.bonnievanak.com
Back from Nicaragua, with a side trip to Guatemala. Great trip, but returned with food poisoning AGAIN. Still, it was worth it. Trying to catch up... in the meantime, Blair V sold another story to Ellora's Cave, a vampire story. Here's my model for the story. Oh yeah...those penetrating green eyes...mmmm!
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