Curious Lingo for the Medical Profesh

http://www.messybeast.com/dragonqueen/medical-acronyms.htm

Big A shall now only refer to Big Anne Michaels

The people that you meet, whether you believe in fated paths or not, invariably shape your life. This also applies to the books you meet. If you are a writer, or have a strong connection to language, you go one further and recognize the authors as the shapers. Today, after hearing murmurs of her and her perfection, I have finally met (read) Anne Michaels.

An old university friend of mine first recommended me to her. "Read her!" he said,"she writes maybe one book every five years but people wait for them because they are perfect." Tonight I took a huge bite out of Fugitive Pieces, her debut and the winner and nominee of almost every lit prize known to man.

Michaels lives in Toronto, and she is actually the aunt of a close friend of an ex-boss of mine. How cool is that? (Yes, distant distant relation, but still...perhaps one day I will have some way of gaining an interview.)

Every line felt like home. I'm not trying to flatter myself, but I felt like I was reading my own stuff - familiar like a sister; stuff that came from an older and better me. I'm not talking about subject or story, I'm talking about voice. Maybe she's just that good at connecting with her readers, but I have definitely found my new lit hero (sorry Big Annie Proulx). Again, I have no major sociological, human, or psychological loss/connection with the proper subject matter, but one line of a tertiary character's really hit me flat and real: "write to save yourself, and someday you'll write because you've been saved."

This next statement may sound grilled cheese, but that line just killed me because whenever I am finding it hard to punch on with the motherlode monstrosity of a project I have been chasing for years, I just remind myself: this writing is for survival. From there, I can go on.

Thank you, Anne. I am going to read everything you have ever shared.

If you don't like her writing, you don't know what you are talking about.

Pandemic.

--> Big, fat pharma: the Swine Flu makes money (after all, it is tackling Westerners).

Freestyle Hut:
"taking advantage" - a kin of the white lie; ignited by the recognition of opportunity and forging an infinite pathway between your intentions, mouth and asshole.


--> Something from the New Yorker that really didn't impress me: It's written by filmmaker Noah Baumbach, and he's best pals with my love Wes Anderson. It really reveals the netting of the network. Stick to celluloid, Baumbach.

--> Why is there never wine at our meetings?











Editorial meeting at Punch; late 19th-century

MOTHERLODE

Free Style Hut:
"Artist" = accepting of zeros (and the absence of any greater number proceeding them in order to generate wealth).

-->I've noticed teaching your art generally produces more money than practicing it. Thus, the adage "those who can't do, teach" should be edited to: "Those who can't just do, also teach."
--> I always spell motherlode wrong ("motherload") -- I always forget. But honestly, half of the time I spend typing, I am not really at max thinking. I have come to hate the clack of a keyboard (even though it is a signifyer of productivity). I think someone should invent a completely silent keyboard. Have they done that already?
--> New spring dresses always make me smile. (Seriously. Wearing one could even make optimistic...fall in love...use the word "fantastic")
--> Because most of this post is floating on the morose, I will add this video to lift the clouds:

The vilioration of dialogue.

From two wrongs of society:

"I have three words for you: that was artistry"

"Actually, that's four words."

"What is?"

"Artist tree is two."

...from American Idol no doubt. I wish my parents would stop watching that crap. No matter how closed my bedroom door gets, I can still hear the wailings of those star-suckers, sucking the microphone with their vaseline coated teeth, looking in their lighted mirrors, hoping for that fucking "break."

"Mom, why did you give me a magazine? To smell the perfumes?"

"Well, I thought you'd want to look at it."

"To read?"

"Yeah I guess."

"So, you gave me a magazine to read? Oh...can I have your Ipod?"

...from the GO Train. Not quite the reckoning of dialogue itself, but of one of its platforms. Dear magazines, stop being picture books. Times are tough, I know ad dept, but honestly, I can never even find the articles amongst the make-up/watch ads. No wonder some people don't consider magazines reading material.

Words I've been using lately

"Explode"
"Dickhead"
"Cough"

...a sign of the times.

Intro: Freestyle Hut

Freestyle Hut:

"headache" - A drum corp. frolicking within my temples; this making the noise of a thousand heartbeats (pre-cardiac arrest) all set to the same rise and boom.