I stole this shot from Stuff on my Cat, one of my favorite blogs. Go check them out and please, do not leave an indignant cat-abuse comment. Please.
Enyhoo, this pic pretty much sums up where I am at the moment.
I'm genuinely sad about the death of Steve "The Crocodile Hunter" Irwin because the guy was so filled with wonder and awe and a ravenous lust for life that dammit, he deserved to live to be a very old man. The self-described "Wildlife Warrior" got royally screwed and so did his family. What a bummer.
I don't give a rat's ass about Katie Couric anchoring the national evening news because as we have already established, she is NOT a journalist and frankly, her studied "I am so serious and studious and concerned" affectation makes me want to puke. So can the endless "Katie is reading the news starting real soon!" ads please stop? Jesus.
When, oh when, please sweet baby Jesus, will the political campaign end already? I am so over the political ads on TV and the radio and the litter (campaign signs) choking all the roadways and the bullshit ads in the papers. I think something is seriously wrong with anyone who runs for public office.
New Orleans is still a bloody catastrophe. Does anyone give a shit?
My boss is a drooling cretin. How much longer can I stand to work for someone I do not respect and do not believe?
My manuscript got brutally panned by one of my professors (grad school seemed like a good idea). Said professor is a New York Times best seller's list author, so, yeah, she kinda knows what she's talking about. It sucked.
I am obviously watching too much TV.
I need a vacation.
The end.
2 comments:
Sorry about the manuscript punking; that smarts. I hope you didn't let her get away with any vague criticism, though: If she's going to pan it, she needs to let you know how it could be improved and, more important, show you that her opinion is shaped by sincere thought.
I was reeling after being rejected from an MFA program a few years ago, and I called repeatedly to try and reach someone who could give me notes on the specifics of the rejection. Months later I finally received a call telling me, "We all really enjoyed reading your submission, and I guess we decided we enjoyed it a little too much: It was too easy to read." Um, what the fuck does that mean? If you think it lacks complexity, tell me it fucking lacks complexity, not some bullshit about it being too easy to read. Perhaps the wound is still a bit too fresh?
I just told my husband tonight that I am sick of the campaigns already. And I am so sad about Steve Irwin. Imagine having him for your dad--so ultra-full of life--and then have him die. I can't imagine how his wife and children will go on.
As for the fancy-schmancy NY author panning your manuscript . . . ouch! That has to hurt.
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