Rod Vick's Blog: Death by Typo
August 7, 2022
Writer's Block Looks like a Casserole
Writers are easily distracted by food. In his autobiography, Benjamin Franklin wrote, "It was about this time I conceived the bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection. I wished to live without committing any fault at any time; I would conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead me into." Of course, Franklin failed miserably, because high on that list was the moral fault of gluttony, and Franklin, a lifetime sufferer of gout, never met an hors d'oeuvres that he did not like.
Like Ben Franklin, I write, wear wire-framed glasses, have a wood stove in my home, and am easily distracted by food, which is why my friends Bob and Cindy had no difficulty at all convincing My Lovely Wife Marsha and me (Note: 'Me' is correct here; take 'My Lovely Wife Marsha and' out of the sentence to verify) to attend their annual barn picnic and potluck. We were not disappointed. There were dozens of sumptuous dishes and tempting sweets. Not only that, we enjoyed conversing with friends we had not seen for months or longer.
One of these was my friend Michael, who I have known since freshman year of high school. Michael was instantly popular since, on the basis of being a few months older than the rest of us, he quickly obtained his driver's license. I should note that Michael is also a really nice guy, so driver's license or not, his popularity was assured. I still see Michael frequently, and there at Bob's potluck party, in the shadow of the varied hot dishes, I was reminded of a recipe from long ago.
When Michael was in college, he shared a house with several other gregarious characters, all of whom took turns doing household chores. One evening, a roommate wandered into the kitchen where Michael was preparing supper for them all at the stove. On the burner was a large skillet or pan in which a ground beef, Hamburger Helper-style casserole was bubbling away. Beside the stove, on the counter, was a large bag of M&Ms, out of which Michael was occasionally taking sustenance. For reasons that can only be attributed to the continuing cultural folly of allowing people to live together whose cerebral cortexes are not fully developed, the roommate dared Michael to add the bag of M&Ms to the bubbling dish, which Michael did. M&M Casserole was born...and served to everyone in the house.
I always found this story bizarre and hilarious until many years later when I was researching chili recipes and discovered that many of them recommended adding cocoa to sharpen the flavor.
Who knew? Thus did I see my longtime friend in a new light. Not an eccentric after all, but rather, a visionary!
What does this have to do with writing? Well, instead of working on my new book right now, just like Benjamin Franklin, I'm thinking about making something to eat. Possibly chili.
I wonder if we have any M&Ms?
Like Ben Franklin, I write, wear wire-framed glasses, have a wood stove in my home, and am easily distracted by food, which is why my friends Bob and Cindy had no difficulty at all convincing My Lovely Wife Marsha and me (Note: 'Me' is correct here; take 'My Lovely Wife Marsha and' out of the sentence to verify) to attend their annual barn picnic and potluck. We were not disappointed. There were dozens of sumptuous dishes and tempting sweets. Not only that, we enjoyed conversing with friends we had not seen for months or longer.
One of these was my friend Michael, who I have known since freshman year of high school. Michael was instantly popular since, on the basis of being a few months older than the rest of us, he quickly obtained his driver's license. I should note that Michael is also a really nice guy, so driver's license or not, his popularity was assured. I still see Michael frequently, and there at Bob's potluck party, in the shadow of the varied hot dishes, I was reminded of a recipe from long ago.
When Michael was in college, he shared a house with several other gregarious characters, all of whom took turns doing household chores. One evening, a roommate wandered into the kitchen where Michael was preparing supper for them all at the stove. On the burner was a large skillet or pan in which a ground beef, Hamburger Helper-style casserole was bubbling away. Beside the stove, on the counter, was a large bag of M&Ms, out of which Michael was occasionally taking sustenance. For reasons that can only be attributed to the continuing cultural folly of allowing people to live together whose cerebral cortexes are not fully developed, the roommate dared Michael to add the bag of M&Ms to the bubbling dish, which Michael did. M&M Casserole was born...and served to everyone in the house.
I always found this story bizarre and hilarious until many years later when I was researching chili recipes and discovered that many of them recommended adding cocoa to sharpen the flavor.
Who knew? Thus did I see my longtime friend in a new light. Not an eccentric after all, but rather, a visionary!
What does this have to do with writing? Well, instead of working on my new book right now, just like Benjamin Franklin, I'm thinking about making something to eat. Possibly chili.
I wonder if we have any M&Ms?
Writer's Block Looks like a Casserole
Writers are easily distracted by food. In his autobiography, Benjamin Franklin wrote, "It was about this time I conceived the bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection. I wished to live without committing any fault at any time; I would conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead me into." Of course, Franklin failed miserably, because high on that list was the moral fault of gluttony, and Franklin, a lifetime sufferer of gout, never met an hors d'oeuvres that he did not like.
Like Ben Franklin, I write, wear wire-framed glasses, have a wood stove in my home, and am easily distracted by food, which is why my friends Bob and Cindy had no difficulty at all convincing My Lovely Wife Marsha and me (Note: 'Me' is correct here; take 'My Lovely Wife Marsha and' out of the sentence to verify) to attend their annual barn picnic and potluck. We were not disappointed. There were dozens of sumptuous dishes and tempting sweets. Not only that, we enjoyed conversing with friends we had not seen for months or longer.
One of these was my friend Michael, who I have known since freshman year of high school. Michael was instantly popular since, on the basis of being a few months older than the rest of us, he quickly obtained his driver's license. I should note that Michael is also a really nice guy, so driver's license or not, his popularity was assured. I still see Michael frequently, and there at Bob's potluck party, in the shadow of the varied hot dishes, I was reminded of a recipe from long ago.
When Michael was in college, he shared a house with several other gregarious characters, all of whom took turns doing household chores. One evening, a roommate wandered into the kitchen where Michael was preparing supper for them all at the stove. On the burner was a large skillet or pan in which a ground beef, Hamburger Helper-style casserole was bubbling away. Beside the stove, on the counter, was a large bag of M&Ms, out of which Michael was occasionally taking sustenance. For reasons that can only be attributed to the continuing cultural folly of allowing people to live together whose cerebral cortexes are not fully developed, the roommate dared Michael to add the bag of M&Ms to the bubbling dish, which Michael did. M&M Casserole was born...and served to everyone in the house.
I always found this story bizarre and hilarious until many years later when I was researching chili recipes and discovered that many of them recommended adding cocoa to sharpen the flavor.
Who knew? Thus did I see my longtime friend in a new light. Not an eccentric after all, but rather, a visionary!
What does this have to do with writing? Well, instead of working on my new book right now, just like Benjamin Franklin, I'm thinking about making something to eat. Possibly chili.
I wonder if we have any M&Ms?
Like Ben Franklin, I write, wear wire-framed glasses, have a wood stove in my home, and am easily distracted by food, which is why my friends Bob and Cindy had no difficulty at all convincing My Lovely Wife Marsha and me (Note: 'Me' is correct here; take 'My Lovely Wife Marsha and' out of the sentence to verify) to attend their annual barn picnic and potluck. We were not disappointed. There were dozens of sumptuous dishes and tempting sweets. Not only that, we enjoyed conversing with friends we had not seen for months or longer.
One of these was my friend Michael, who I have known since freshman year of high school. Michael was instantly popular since, on the basis of being a few months older than the rest of us, he quickly obtained his driver's license. I should note that Michael is also a really nice guy, so driver's license or not, his popularity was assured. I still see Michael frequently, and there at Bob's potluck party, in the shadow of the varied hot dishes, I was reminded of a recipe from long ago.
When Michael was in college, he shared a house with several other gregarious characters, all of whom took turns doing household chores. One evening, a roommate wandered into the kitchen where Michael was preparing supper for them all at the stove. On the burner was a large skillet or pan in which a ground beef, Hamburger Helper-style casserole was bubbling away. Beside the stove, on the counter, was a large bag of M&Ms, out of which Michael was occasionally taking sustenance. For reasons that can only be attributed to the continuing cultural folly of allowing people to live together whose cerebral cortexes are not fully developed, the roommate dared Michael to add the bag of M&Ms to the bubbling dish, which Michael did. M&M Casserole was born...and served to everyone in the house.
I always found this story bizarre and hilarious until many years later when I was researching chili recipes and discovered that many of them recommended adding cocoa to sharpen the flavor.
Who knew? Thus did I see my longtime friend in a new light. Not an eccentric after all, but rather, a visionary!
What does this have to do with writing? Well, instead of working on my new book right now, just like Benjamin Franklin, I'm thinking about making something to eat. Possibly chili.
I wonder if we have any M&Ms?
July 28, 2022
So Many Cleopatras, So Little Time
Research is fun. Especially research on ancient Egypt, which I did when I wrote The Book of Invasions. You learn all sorts of amazing things that would make you the life of the party if you happened to be partying with a roomful of Egyptologists. At most other parties, you would be quietly escorted to the door.
On the chance that you, who are reading this, are an Egyptologist or attempting to find reading material that will defeat your insomnia, let me drop this crazy little truth bomb: There was more than one Cleopatra.
Boom. Mind blown.
But wait! There’s more! There were actually at least ten Cleopatras, seven of which eventually sat on the throne of Egypt. We only remember Cleopatra number seven, the last of the reigning Cleos, and that’s partly because of her dalliance with Julius Caesar. She died at the ripe old age of 39.
But wait, you say! Thirty-nine isn’t old!
And there it is. Another little fun factoid, courtesy of research. Thirty-nine was pretty old in ancient Egypt. For men, the average life expectancy was age 25, and for women, 37. Cleopatra Number Seven was well past her expiration date when she passed. Granted, the asp she convinced to bite her didn’t help the situation.
One can only the imagine the conversations between potential tomb workers and the HR representative at the hiring interview.
WORKER: ‘So what sort of benefits are you offering?
’
HR: ‘Very generous. Twenty gold debens a month when you retire at age 65.’
WORKER: ‘Age 65?’
HR: ‘Yes.’
And then they would both laugh hysterically, holding their stomachs and falling onto the floor, where they would probably be bitten by asps.
But let's circle back to Cleopatra. Why so many of the same name? I have a theory:
STONECUTTER (176 b.c.): 'There! It took me six months, but I've fnally chiseled Queen Cleopatra's name into the granite lintel above the palace entrance!'
ROYAL OVERSEER: 'Truly, a work of art. Oh, by the way, Queen Cleopatra has died. It was inevitable, she being in her thirties and all. So why don't you get to work on the new lintel for Queen Wilhemina O'Connelly-Smythe.'
STONECUTTER (first despairing, then his eyes brightening with inspiration, raising an index finger, smiling): 'Or...'
And so Cleopatra it was for seven dynasties.
On the chance that you, who are reading this, are an Egyptologist or attempting to find reading material that will defeat your insomnia, let me drop this crazy little truth bomb: There was more than one Cleopatra.
Boom. Mind blown.
But wait! There’s more! There were actually at least ten Cleopatras, seven of which eventually sat on the throne of Egypt. We only remember Cleopatra number seven, the last of the reigning Cleos, and that’s partly because of her dalliance with Julius Caesar. She died at the ripe old age of 39.
But wait, you say! Thirty-nine isn’t old!
And there it is. Another little fun factoid, courtesy of research. Thirty-nine was pretty old in ancient Egypt. For men, the average life expectancy was age 25, and for women, 37. Cleopatra Number Seven was well past her expiration date when she passed. Granted, the asp she convinced to bite her didn’t help the situation.
One can only the imagine the conversations between potential tomb workers and the HR representative at the hiring interview.
WORKER: ‘So what sort of benefits are you offering?
’
HR: ‘Very generous. Twenty gold debens a month when you retire at age 65.’
WORKER: ‘Age 65?’
HR: ‘Yes.’
And then they would both laugh hysterically, holding their stomachs and falling onto the floor, where they would probably be bitten by asps.
But let's circle back to Cleopatra. Why so many of the same name? I have a theory:
STONECUTTER (176 b.c.): 'There! It took me six months, but I've fnally chiseled Queen Cleopatra's name into the granite lintel above the palace entrance!'
ROYAL OVERSEER: 'Truly, a work of art. Oh, by the way, Queen Cleopatra has died. It was inevitable, she being in her thirties and all. So why don't you get to work on the new lintel for Queen Wilhemina O'Connelly-Smythe.'
STONECUTTER (first despairing, then his eyes brightening with inspiration, raising an index finger, smiling): 'Or...'
And so Cleopatra it was for seven dynasties.
