True Love Trumps Romance

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK

            This week – being Valentine’s Week – I must pay tribute to those who’ve fallen in love with questionable taste: people who choose to be with the crazed, the obsessive, the workaholic, and the occasionally moronic.

            In other words, I’d like to pay tribute to my fiancée.

            We met on a writer’s website, one of those places where geeks and nerds escape jocks, haters, yuppies, and the establishment, otherwise known as real life. You couldn’t see who you were messaging (which may explain why she fell for me), and based on my writing style she originally thought I was female. I choose to take that as a compliment.

 If anyone there made a pass, it would be with such sexy lines as, “So … what are you typing with?”

            “A Mac.”

            “Oooooohhhh…. Talk Apple to me.”

             You’ve heard of the May-December romance? Ours is an April-December romance. (March is illegal.) I no longer bother correcting salespeople who call her my daughter, although I haven’t yet given in to the urge to let them believe that for awhile, then start making out with her. These are the things humor writers think are funny.

            Because of our age difference I’m very close to being on the same emotional level as she is, although she has me beat on both overall maturity and intelligence. You might think she’s part of my midlife crisis, but I’ve yet to buy a sports car or get hair plugs; and she’s clearly not gold-digging, as my entire fortune consists of a collection of wheat-head pennies and a Johnny West action figure (both in fair to poor condition).

            So it must be love. And in honor of Valentine’s Day, that tribute to pink and chocolate, I’d like to tell everyone just what I love about my Emily:

            I love the fact that she doesn’t always have to get girly: She can be up and ready to head out the door in twenty minutes, no need for a bucket of makeup or a shelf full of powered devices that look like they belong in a torture chamber.

            I love the way she slaps me oh-so gently on the back of the head whenever my verbal stream of consciousness gets out of control.

            I love the fact that she loves knowledge, and that we can sit together and watch a PBS documentary without either of us saying, “Huh? I don’t get it.”

            I love the way she doesn’t seem to mind when I break into song (at least, not when I do it in private); she just smiles and turns up the stereo volume on her noise-cancelling headphones.

            I love how all the sports channels on TV could have gone off the air two years ago, and no one in the house would notice.

            I love how we can be walking on a trail in the park one moment, and the next moment be climbing a brush-covered hill that no one’s stepped foot in for decades, just to see what’s on the other side.

            I love how she tries to keep me healthy just for my sake, but doesn’t stay mad for long when she catches me cheating with a Snicker’s bar or Moose Tracks ice cream. When she asks for ice cream herself, I know it’s time to tread carefully, because she’s having a bad day.

            I love how she encourages my writing by throwing small household items at me until I sit down at the keyboard. Although, really, I think she enjoys the throwing a bit too much.

            I love how she taught me snakes have personalities. Her snake is both cowardly and curious, and doesn’t like wearing Santa hats.

            I love how concerned she gets whenever she hears a loud falling noise in the house and isn’t certain where I am, and I love how good she is with first aid. On a related note, I love the concerned look she gets whenever I open the tool box.

            I love how she didn’t protest when I headed to the roof to demolish my chimney, even after I accidentally smashed the ladder. She knows I have my stubborn moments. Did I mention she’s good with first aid?

            I love how we both like the same TV shows, and how we sit down together to devour our limited diet of science fiction, fantasy, and silly sitcoms.

            I love how she makes me put money in the pun jar all the time, but doesn’t actually try to make me stop punning. We should have vacation money saved up in no time.

            I love how books are just as important to her as they are to me – and how they’re usually the same books.

            I love how she’s interested in everything (except sports and politics).

            I love how she calls me “Mustache”. As nicknames go, it beats “Hey Stupid”.

            If none of that is seems too terribly romantic, well … what it is, is love. Romance is a great thing, but it’s not sustainable; you can’t be romantic all the time. True love? That’s the everyday items, the little things – the stuff they don’t write songs about.

            And since I have her – I have it.

Press release for Storm Chaser sale, My Funny Valentine ranking

The e-book version of a local author’s debut novel has been selected by his publisher as one of fourteen romance related stories offered for half price this month in celebration of Valentine’s Day.

Storm Chaser, a romantic comedy that follows the adventures of a cop and a disaster photographer in northeast Indiana, is available for $3.50 from Whiskey Creek Press as a PDF or HTML e-book, readable on almost all e-readers and computers. Anyone can place an order or read a sample chapter and a review by going here:

http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=899

The author, Mark R. Hunter, is also a contributor to the humor compilation My Funny Valentine, which in advance of the holiday reached a notable high note on the Amazon.com humor book rankings: It hit #16 for e-books and #15 for print books. Hunter’s humor column, Slightly Off The Mark, appears weekly in the local newspapers Albion New Era, Churubusco News, and Northwest News.

My Funny Valentine can be ordered on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/My-Funny-Valentine-ebook/dp/B006JROL8K/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1328660994&sr=1-2

Or from the publisher at:

http://myfunnybooks.biz/

Hunter’s website is:

www.markrhunter.com

Print copies of My Funny Valentine are also available at the Albion New Era office and at Just Off the Square Antiques and Collectibles, on East Main Street in Albion.

Speak of the Devil: Darth Vader Is A Whiny Crybaby

Speak of the Devil: Darth Vader Is A Whiny Crybaby: "Luke, I am your father. And your mother was a Queen from Naboo, though for some reason they elected queens on that planet. Oh, and when I ...

Underwear Meme Goes Overboard

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK

            Do you know what “meme” is?

            Me neither, so I looked it up on that paragon of accuracy, Wikipedia. Turns out it’s a shortened version of “mimeme”, an ancient Greek word meaning something imitated, or to imitate, or in this case maybe to irritate. The concept propagated through the web, often in the form of a question and answer quiz you’re supposed to fill out, then pass along to all your friends.

            I was sent an underwear meme.

            Seems a bit personal? Well, that’s the nature of memes. Many are designed so people who become friends online get to know more personal details about each other, just as they would if they became friends in real life and, say, sat around talking about their underwear. ‘Cause that’s what my friends always sat around doing.

            “Say, you try them new Fruit of the Looms?”

            “Yep, they seemed a bit binding.”

            No, I never took it easy around the poker table, drinking beer and discussing undies. Not only did I have no desire to, but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing my friends want to hear. In fact, I was going to fill the meme out as if written by one of my novel characters, which I thought would be more interesting and less embarrassing; not to mention the idea that the more a writer knows about their characters, the better he can write them in a story.

            I’m not sure I buy that on an underwear basis.

            Still, it only seems fair: My friends were being up front about underneath, so shouldn’t I? So here, for the first time: All about my underwear. Make the kids turn away.

What do you call your underwear/undergarments? Do you have any commonly used nicknames for them?

In a word, no. What, people nickname their underwear?

“Yeah, let me put on Slim Jim and I’ll be right there.”

“Honey, have you seen Eddie Elastic?”

I don’t think so. I call my underwear … underwear.

Have you ever had that supposedly common dream of being in a crowded place in only your underwear?

Sadly, yes. Speaking as a person who rarely wears shorts and has been made fun of for not removing my shoes in my own home, I can tell you I wouldn’t be thrilled to run around publicly in my tightie whities, or even my Pink Power Rangers pajamas. (What? She was my favorite.)

My dream usually involves not only being in my underwear, but walking around school in my underwear, unable to find my classroom or books, and realizing I’m late for a class I didn’t prepare for. There’s often some falling involved, too.

In other words, my dreams aren’t all that much fun.

What is the worst thing you can think of to make underwear out of?

Poison ivy laced steel wool. I find the fact that I can imagine that to be extremely disturbing.

If you were a pair of panties, what color would you be?

Um … red from embarrassment? Or pink, I guess, since that’s my general skin color. Guess what – these questions get stranger, as tends to happen with memes.

Hm … why do they call panties a “pair”, but bras singular?

Have you ever thrown your underwear at a rock star or other celebrity? If so, which one(s)? If not, which one(s) would you throw your underwear at, given the opportunity?

Former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright. Have you seen her? Wowzers … sexy thang. I’d be very surprised if Bill Clinton never hit that.

Yeah … no. I’ve never understood the point of celebrity crushes to begin with, although I do admit to having something of a man crush on talk show host Craig Ferguson and his stirring Scottish brogue. (And Sean Connery, come to think of it … definitely the accent.)

I understand the possibility that some male celebrities may appreciate the underwear toss, assuming they don’t get knocked over by a girdle or a pair of granny panties. However, I can’t imagine any female celebrity being impressed by some guy hurtling his boxers onto a stage, which would most likely cause her to hurl. And not her underwear.

You’re out of clean underwear. What do you do?

I always keep an emergency stash of older underwear in the back of the drawer, just in case. No, I do not go commando. I only saw the movie There’s Something About Mary once, but it left an indelible impression on me, and I always keep a layer of cloth between any zipper and my … self. If you haven’t seen the movie, you can probably guess by context what I’m talking about.

Are you old enough to remember Underroos? If so, did you have any?

Underroos, for the uninitiated, were underwear that had the pattern of superhero costumes on them. You could be Batman, Superman, or if you were a girl, Wonder Women. Or if you were a boy too, I guess, but then you’d face the possibility of your parents sending you into therapy. I never had them, but I now own a fetching Batman … never mind.

I just Googled “Underoos”. Note to self: Tighten up that adult filter setting.

If you could have any message printed on your underwear, what would it be?

“Have you seen my classroom? Can I borrow your notes?”

How many bloggers does it take to put panties on a goat?

Um … huh?

There’s always one last weird, unrelated question tacked onto these memes, just to make people do a double take. I’m not sure how PETA feels about forcing animals into tightie whities, but the goat’s bound to be displeased.

By the way, the actual number of bloggers it takes is 42. It may seem like a lot, but bloggers are generally an out of shape bunch, and the goats can get very displeased.

Maybe they should try boxers.

The Second Sentence: Dickens Rides the TV Range

The Second Sentence: Dickens Rides the TV Range: Today, in honor of Charles Dickens' bicentennial celebration, I thought it would be fun to look at the appearance of his influence in a plac...

Storm Chaser half off; My Funny Valentine soaring

Whiskey Creek Press is offering Storm Chaser at half off for the month of February, one of 14 WCP books on sale in honor of Valentine's Day! 

http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=899

But wait, it gets better: I've also learned that My Funny Valentine has peaked at #28 in the humor category at Amazon.com, in both print and Kindle categories!

http://www.amazon.com/My-Funny-Valentine-ebook/dp/B006JROL8K/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1328660994&sr=1-2

Preplanning Your Novel

A little something about how (and whether) to outline when you're writing a novel -- with some examples about character creation from the under construction Storm Chaser sequel.

http://writersofmassdistraction.com/2012/01/29/preplanning-your-novel/

I know headaches or: Memoirs of a Middle-Aged Mess

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK

                Oh yeah, I know headaches.

                Headaches usually come in two types: The one that starts with the body and the one that starts with the mind. I suppose if someone decided to smash a bottle over your head, it would be their mind and your body. I don’t recommend this.

                There’s the “You screwed up your spine and the pain’s radiating into your head” headache. I screwed up my spine at a fire in downtown Albion, in 1983, and it’s been screwed up ever since. Just for fun, the location of my back pain changes frequently: lower, middle, upper, up and down like some manic kid is playing air guitar on my spinal cord. I suppose the headache comes when he smashes my spinal guitar on the stage.

                There’s the “You have kids” headache. Early on it’s caused by noisemaking devices, or by common objects being turned into noisemaking devices, such as pots and pans, window panes, small pets, and siblings. Later it’s caused by wondering what your kids are doing, and remembering what you were doing at their age. This headache commonly lasts from 40-60 years.

                There are two kinds of cluster headaches: One is characterized by severe pain on one side of the head. The other has a variety of causes, such as studying politics, getting stuck in traffic, or trying to figure out a family dinner seating arrangement when half the family hates the other half. This second type of cluster headache is often characterized by people moaning, “What a cluster …”

                Only a few times have I had headaches that met the definition of a migraine, and they were mild by migraine standards – which means I overmedicated, rather than begging someone to just shoot me.

                Overmedicating leads to the next type of headache, the rebound headache. Take too much headache medicine, and it gives you a headache. The irony … well, the irony makes my head ache.

                Then there’s the bean headache. No, not from eating beans – that problem’s at the other end. I’m talking about when you bean yourself on something, such as a low hanging branch (as in my front yard) or a badly placed pipe (such as my basement). Not that it ever happened to me.

                The stress headache is caused by ... well, a lot of the stuff above can cause stress headaches. When my doctor asked me if I’d been stressed lately, I just laughed. Laughter is a great stress reliever, although maybe not the kind of sarcastic, half-hysterical laughter the Doc heard from me.

                Then there’s the sinus headache.

                The main cause of a sinus headache is living in the Midwest. Not just here, though: Experts believe that not only are sinus headaches common, but that they progress to sinus infections for 30 million people every year, just in America. Untreated sinusitis can cause permanent damage to the sinuses and lead to meningitis, bone infections, heavy drinking, or throwing people through windows when they ask how you feel. Knowing that causes stress, which leads to headaches, which leads to medicating, which leads to rebound headaches …

                During December I embarked on an epic journey into the medical world, involving a full blood draw, multiple office visits, lectures, and two courses of antibiotics.  I had a bunch of problems that needed to be looked into, so as long as I was going in about one I asked about all of them. That was my mistake. By the time the testing was done, the Doc had me on so many medications that the pharmacy named a filing cabinet after me.

                There was heavy-duty ibuprofen for my back pain and tennis elbow; baby aspirin and fish oil for my cholesterol and family history of heart attacks; some stuff that I can’t pronounce for acid reflux; and of course the antibiotic. They also put me on an anti-depressant, telling me it was for my seasonal affected disorder. I suspect they really gave that to me because of the look on my face when I realized I was now taking more drugs than my grandmother.

                Then, because my sinus swelling wasn’t going away, they gave me a shot of Cortisone.

                I haven’t had a shot in – that place, shall we say my hip – since I was a kid. It went in very smoothly; then I couldn’t sit or walk straight for an hour.

                Now, here’s the fun part – and those of you over forty who have to take more than one medication probably see this coming: Instead of the headache going away, it moved. Over the next few days it migrated from the sinuses behind my face to the top of my head, the back of my head, my jawline, my upper neck – pretty much everywhere else. The drugs forced my sinuses into retreat, and now they were taking over the rest of my head!

                I sat there, sweating, feeling hot even though it was December, unable to sleep, feeling anxious, and after awhile I thought: “Hey. I don’t ever sweat or feel hot in December, and I can always fall asleep. What a cluster.”

                A little research revealed that both the anti-depressant and the Cortisone had the following symptoms: anxiety; insomnia; and, of course, headache. (The Cortisone threw in the sweating, which – ew.)

                I had been victimized by modern medicine.

                So that’s the story of how, in the space of one month, I moved from being a young man to a broken down middle aged mess. I thought this was supposed to be a gradual thing … but fast or slow, it sure turned out to be a headache.

I'm the ... what?

I appear to be … *ahem* … the, um, hot blogger of the month:

 http://www.shellysnovicewritings.blogspot.com/2012/01/announcing-hot-man-today-and.html

In less embarrassing news, my writer friend DM Yates had some nice things to say about me on her blog:

http://bookblogs.ning.com/group/believeinyourself/forum/topics/mark-r-hunter

book signing results

We sold 7 copies of Storm Chaser and 7 of My Funny Valentine at the book signing Monday ... both are now available at Just Off the Square Antiques, and should be up to borrow soon at the library. Many thanks to the employees of the Noble County Public Library for being such fine hosts!