Here comes the story 'bout a Hurricane

Actually, not a hurricane. Nor a tornado (although I was sitting in the middle of the bastard, and let me tell you, if you told me it was a tornado, I would have believed you.)

The little town where I live was visited by this non-tornado, and left a mess in its wake. Trees down everywhere, power lines live in the street, torrential rain, cars smashed to pieces, houses all but destroyed and close to collapsing - I even had to step up the parenting when we lost power and I couldn't use the TV as the primary caregiver.

All this meant my little town made the TV news, and no less than a good friend in a starring role bemoaning the hole in his roof caused by one of three trees that fell on his house. Totally surreal.

Here's a pic I took when I (and with hindsight, I'm not proud of this) took the kids in the car and drove around looking for good photos in the aftermath.

Three reasons I love NYC

Celebrity News

In the most exciting turn of events since I finished the first draft of TWIMCT, I have incredibly landed a celebrity to write a foreword for my new project.

I will write more specifically later, but 1) it's confirmed and 2) it's someone you will recognize from the 1980s. Apart from the role that convinced me he was the guy I wanted, he was in The Dukes of Hazzard, The Rockford Files and Police Academy 5. He even appeared in The Red Hand Gang - but no, it's not the infamous James Bond III...

The Whole Tooth

Roll up, roll up to be the first to make a joke about the British, their teeth and the quality of their dentists!

Here's the scoop - I was driving along a couple of weeks ago, chewing some lime/raspberry Trident when *pop* out comes a filling dating back to the 1980s. The impending dread hit me right about then.

Yes, I grew up going to National Health Dentists - for free. Including for no added cost were the following quotes: "It's just a small filling, so we won't use any Novocaine" "It won't hurt - this drill goes really fast!" and "We'll wait until you've finished school before I do this (dental work) - so you will pay me full price".

Now, I have the joys of U.S. dentists, who say things like: "Holy sh!t! Did a butcher work in here?" "This bridge (from the U.K.) is like a piece of cardboard" and "Hey! Get in here and look at these x-rays! They're hilarious!"

Of course, no trip to the dentist has caused me any pain since 1990, but the trauma is still something I have to deal with. I was born with no adult teeth in the two "vampire tooth" spots, so until 1997 I had the baby teeth there. As you can imagine, they looked like something that was supposed to last 10 years and had been abused for more than 20. One was almost hollow where the adult "fang" beneath it, being made of stronger stuff, wore its way inside it to within a hair's breadth of the nerve. Even fixing that gubbins wasn't painful. Just boring.

But in the days when fillings came with stern looks and several dozen rinses to get the blood out, I would suffer. Even through my 20s when I went to the dentist I would write myself affirmation notes:

"Dear Adam -

When you read this, you will be getting ready to go the dentist. When you wrote this, you just got back and it didn't hurt at all. It was boring, and your jaw will hurt afterwards, but the nurse is rather fruity so that makes up for any discomfort.

Your trusted friend:
Adam."

Needless to say, today's trip took about 20 minutes, was totally painless, and I sat back and watched Toy Story 2 with my son on the TV as the guy replaced the missing filling and shook my hand to thank me afterwards.

There's no moral here - I just hadn't posted in a while, and wanted to show you why. This is the most interesting thing that has happened in days. Although tonight I have to give one of those speeches to the entirety of my kid's preschool parent population again. At least the new and improved Novocaine has worn off so I won't be dribbling as I speak.

Daaan to Margit

As some of you will know, I pass the days away sometimes by mailing celebrities and asking for signed photos. These primarily make cheap Christmas presents, but some I keep for myself. Ray Charles is a personal favorite, as are George Foreman, Angelina Jolie and the cast of Pimp My Ride - including Xzibit.

But my most recent success was from the heart. I e-mailed cheeky cockney duo Chas 'N' Dave via their website, explaining I was looking from some nostalgia from my past life in England. They sent back, not only a signed photo ("To Adam...") but also a copy of their Greatest Hits CD with a note saying: "We don't do this for everyone, but you're a long way from home." I had never really thought about being a long way from "home" - my "home" as I see it is Manhattan, and that's just a few miles away. Of course, my REAL home is in the New Jersey (Noooo Joisee) suburbs. So now I am all confused.

Either way, I'm off daaan to Margit. And if you're reading this boys, I'm snooker loopy for the CD.

For Ed's Sake

Here's a funny thing. Last night I went to one of my favorite restaurants in the world - Cowgirl at 10th Street and Hudson in the city. Better than that, I was joined by one of my oldest friends (as in I've known him a long time - he's only 33) from high school and a couple of his buds who had come over to Manhattan for a vacation.

As we dined on Frito (TM) Pie and sank pitchers of frozen margaritas, and talked about such nostalgia from our youth as poker at Duncan's house, Julie Martin from Neighbours, going to the dump in Wealdstone and Ed's mom's shocking performance on 15-to-1, it occured to my pal Ed that I was the one person from high school that had kept in the most regular contact. This despite living 3,000 miles away.

The world sure is a small place these days.

In other news, the article on my son will be in Parent Paper in June, and I should have two stories in the Town Journal this coming week.

How I'm going to spend all the money I'm earning from these three articles, I just don't know. Maybe a cup of coffee? Perhaps a small one so I can pick up a NY Post too, though I won't get much change.

Sunny Day/Down With The Sickness Part 1738

Yesterday was pretty spectacular. The glorious sun didn't help my soccer game any, and I played pretty poorly. I blamed my need to get used to seeing the sun again, but I am still carrying some extra pounds after my long-term injury and in the heat I might as well be wearing deep sea diving boots.

Then there was the trip to the literary fair. I think it went well enough, given the short time span. I guess the next few days will tell.

Regardless, today I came down to earth with a bump. A flat tyre/tire meant, in a round-about-way, a drive to Manhattan, stopping for food and bathroom breaks on Route 4, and a whole lot of throw-up, thanks to my sick daughter. So that's how come I'm inside typing this when it's 80 degrees outside and everyone else in town is at the park. Sometimes, being me really bites ass.

Sunday Girl (Boy - ie. me)

This Sunday is the big day I've been gearing up to for weeks, and so far, so good.

I will be attending a literary festival in Brooklyn, where I have the traditional ten-minutes to pitch TWIMCT to an agent who is "interested" in the proposal I submitted to the festival organizers. Naturally, having sat on this information for about a month, I've done a considerable amount of homework on not only what I'm supposed to do and say at this pitch, but also into the agency my contact works for. After all, I'm driving a 100 mile round trip for a 10 minute sit-down. I should at least know what is expected of me.

Most of what I have read leans towards not getting too excited, but to learn from the experience of pitching and not expect to be signed on the spot (because that won't happen.) On a more optimistic note, this is the foot-in-the-door I have been hoping to get - the moment I stop being another ass with another manuscript, and start being a potential client. Like I said, he knows a little about the book and is still interested. That bodes well.

My wife, ever the source of common sense, has told me not to pay too much attention to "playing the game" at the expense of not being myself. After all, a client-agent relationship will work better if we actually like each other. Here's hoping my magical (but fading fast) English accent will work its charm and take me to the next stage. You, dear friends, will find out soon enough.

Wet Weekend

This Spring has been a real downer because of its unpredictability. Saturday was 65 and sunny. Since early Sunday morning, it has rained non-stop. Our sump pump has dusted off its own cobwebs and is hard at work clearing the ground water for the first time since our basement flooded last January.

Luckily, we made the best of things and enjoyed a family weekend on a low budget. Meet The Robinsons was probably the highlight - very funny. Made me forget I didn't get my regular Sunday morning soccer fix (although I did play under a dome on Friday night, though that came with its own issues.)

This Sunday is the day I meet my most concrete lead in my search for a literary agent. I have a lot to do between now and then, and not all relevant to the book. Tomorrow is tax deadline day, so mailing those off is top of the agenda. Watching Teen Wolf is also high on the agenda, for reasons some of you will know...

Swimming Cat

Yesterday, while trawling through my hard drive for a photo I took five or six years ago, I came across a file title "Stories For Penny." Once upon a time (hah!) I used to make up stories for my daughter to get her to nap so I could get 45 minutes to shave, eat, clean, pay the bills etc. etc. This was before we had a second child, so at the time it was terrible but looking back it was more than twice as easy.

Anyway! Here's the text of one such story called Swimming Cat. I think I must have had sunstroke on 1) the day I made this story up and 2) the day I thought it would be a good idea to immortalize it.

SWIMMING CAT

Once upon a time there was a cat called Swimming Cat. He loved to swim, but none of his cat friends would ever come with him to the swimming pool because they hated getting wet.

Swimming Cat would say: “Ah, come on guys! It’s fun!” But they would always say: “No way man. We hate getting wet. Swimming isn’t for cats.” So while Swimming Cat was out swimming by himself, the cats all played Cat Tennis. Swimming Cat didn’t mind so much, because he really loved swimming, but he always wished he could have some of his friends with him because it would be much more fun if he had someone to talk to about swimming.

One day at the pool, Swimming Cat met a fish that was just leaving as he arrived. “Hey,” said Swimming Cat. “Do you want to come swimming with me and be my swimming buddy?”

“No way man,” said the fish. “I hate swimming. I hate getting wet. I’m only here because I got lost on my way to the Cat Tennis courts.”

Swimming Cat was sad.

Even when he was sad, he loved to swim because it made him feel better, and he never wanted to give up the thing he loved so much. Eventually he became so good at swimming, he was spotted by a Cat Olympic coach and went to the Cat Olympics held in Austria and he won a gold medal. And that made him happy.

When he got back, all his cat friends were so jealous and wished they had gone swimming rather than goofing around playing Cat Tennis. They all asked Swimming Cat if he would give them lessons… all except one, whose name was Catty. Catty said: “I just don’t like the look of swimming. I would rather play Cat Tennis.” But unfortunately for Catty, all his cat buddies went off to the swimming pool and left him all alone – and you can’t play Cat Tennis by yourself.

But then, the fish came along and said to Catty: “Hey! I never saw the Cat Tennis courts empty before! Do you want to play a game?” And Catty said: “Yes!” And they played all day and all night. And then a Cat Olympic coach spotted them and they played Cat Tennis in the next Cat Olympics in four years time and they won gold, although the officials weren’t happy about the fish playing (what with him not being a cat).

And they all lived happily ever after. THE END

Spring Showers

Yesterday was almost like a beautiful summer day. Today is 30 degrees cooler, wet and windy. Needless to say, I preferred the former to the latter - mainly as I was banking on getting the youngest child out to the park to run around for two hours.

A few of you have been asking about book progress. TWIMCT is at a stand-still as I wait for my meeting with an interested party on April 22. But I'm not just sitting around watching SeaLab 2021, Aqua Teen Hunger Force and the new season on Pimp My Ride! Oh, no!

My new writing project, which manages to combine parenting and the 1980s, is plodding along nicely. Once a first draft is done in about a month or so I will be preparing that one for market also, but this time a little better forewarned and forearmed.

In other news, efforts to sell my Smurf collection online has resulted in a huge haul - and a big disappointment. Still I've sold about 40 of the little blue buggers and made about $100. And if I don't beat myself up about the fact some of them, individually, have sold for $40 EACH, I am happy with $100 to spend on... well, actually diapers and coffee top the list.

Ska Face

You haven't lived until you've had your four-year-old daughter singing along to Ska favorite "On My Radio" by The Selecter as you drive through the suburbs in the sunshine, in a minivan, with the windows down.

Solar-powered

The sun makes everything better. Right now, I'm exhausted after my fourth or fifth night of restless sleep (and the kids aren't doing any better than I which might be part of the reason I'm doing as badly as I am.) I have about $3 and a pocket full of change to my name. I have no school or dance class or playdate to dump the kids off at today. While I spent yesterday prepping a piece to write, I have yet to start it (and had to use a stand-by piece to make my self-imposed deadline). I haven't heard a whisper from any of the interested TWIMCT parties in weeks, and the newspaper I depend on for pocket money hasn't come up with anything for me in days.

But, the sun is out, so I'm smiling like an Andorran goalkeeper.

Nostalgia... now that takes me back

It's funny - not living in the country I grew up in, I find very little in my daily routine that reminds me of when I was a kid. No kids in school uniform, no chip shops, and none of the TV shows I grew up on (except, of course, the ones that were made here like the A-Team which I remember as a prime time Friday night show, not a 3pm semi-comedy.)

At times, it's like my memory has been erased. I have lived in the US for nearly 10 years and never been back to England. Not so long ago, my parents sent a photo of the family home - a place I lived in for 23 years or so. It looked different, of course. The trees around it were bigger - stuff like that. 10 years of nature will do that.

Then, every so often whether I'm looking for it or not, I find something that takes me back. A name or a song or a feeling. In the 1980s, Johnny Hates Jazz sang a song called "Turn Back The Clock" where they sang about being an adult and reflecting on being a kid. Clark Datchler sang about being: "The boy he still resembled, but could no longer understand." But the most poignant line was where he said: "If I could have it over, live my life again, I wouldn't change a single thing." My childhood was happy enough, but there were some pretty sad and monumental events that shaped me. That's true of everyone I suppose.

I wonder if my kids will feel the same way as Clark, because I wonder if I would change anything myself for better or worse if I were given the chance.

More news is no news

I have another agent who is interested in me, but it's hard to get more than just a little excited. I'm meeting him at a literary festival in Queens next month, which means three more weeks of not knowing if I should be excited or not.

Most of the foul, lethargic mood I'm in is down to the weather. The snow is all gone and yesterday, for whatever reason it was 70 degrees and sunny enough for no coats (and having seen An Inconvenient Truth last week, it was slightly petrifying, especially with the huge thunderstorm that followed overnight.) This morning it's a day that reminds me of growing up in North London - wet, but not raining. The roller coaster of weather-based emotion, along with "I might be interested in representing you - let's talk about it in a month" and so many toys all over the floor due to hours stuck inside... well, that will do it.

Sick again (and more)

Unbelievably, we had the rearranged birthday party for my daughter on Saturday - the first one being cancelled because she was sick.

So of course, she got sick again.

With two hours to go until the party, she was lethargic on the couch, hot to the touch, and miserable as sin despite the upcoming gift/cake fest. The party went well, thanks to modern medicine at its maximum recommended dose for 4-year-olds, but by the end she was crying and that kind of took the edge off the fun that had gone beforehand.

One of the things not talked about in the whole life-changing that comes with parenthood is that you get sick more. One of the others is, unlike when you were a kid, as a parent you are now expected to make it all better for someone else. Since December we as a family have been sick once a month with some kind of bug. My daughter's class hasn't had a full attendance since the start of 2007, and a class of 13 has been reduced to less than half at times because of coughs and colds or worse.

In other news, I repeated my life-list achievement of five goals last Sunday morning. Still no news from Big Agent man, and because of my condition of late (assisted by spending the last two nights next to a four-year-old coughing and/or whining that she wants water and/or mommy) I haven't written enough to cover the back of a postage stamp in the last few days. I even ditched my writer's group meeting last night because I felt so unpredictable.

But come on March! Help me out here! The sun is out, which is a start, but I need something you stupid month!

Boy Of Summer

Last summer I took a much-needed vacation alone. I drove from New Jersey to Philly, booked into a hotel, and saw the Philadelphia Phillies beat the Atlanta Braves (baseball for you English types) that night. I then slept alone in a king-sized bed. That was almost as good as the game.

Next morning, I woke up and got back in the car to drive the few hours to Washington D.C. where I saw the Washington Nationals play the Chicago Cubs before getting back on the NJ Turnpike and heading home, arriving back on Saturday night.

The relevence? I just booked this year's baseball double-header. I leave for Pittsburgh on a June Saturday morning to see the Pirates play the Los Angeles Dodgers before staying the night, then moving on to Cleveland to see the Indians play the Detroit Tigers.

Booking this trip became a necessity after the last couple of days. The kids have been anxious and stir-crazy. The only outings we get are still in-nings in that we are indoors. Couple that with the wife getting home late from work, and the destruction of a batch of highly-sugared peanut butter cookies, and it doesn't bode well for yours truly. And it didn't bode well at all.

Then this morning, the straw that broke my back and that of my metaphorical camel? Snow. Not a lot, but it's been coming down constantly since 5am and it's gathering. The two minute drive to school this morning took 20 minutes because other people can't drive.

So I had to get myself thinking about something fun that I would do alone. And after I did that, I booked the trip *.

*(c) Les Dawson, 1977

February By The Numbers - and more

First, a numerical recap of Feb:

1 - the number of goals I scored during my Sunday morning soccer games.

1 - the number of games I played in because of the bastard snow and ice.

4 - the number of days my daughter attending pre-school during February due to above-mentioned snow and ice, winter break week, and illness. In other words, about she went to school about half of the time she could have done.

20 - the number of pages written for my newest project

1 - the number of famous people targetted to write the forward for aforementioned new project. If I can't get him to do it, I have no plan B as yet.

Having written off my digital camera as a bust, I discovered that some batteries are not strong enough to power a digital camera, even for one second. I put in some premium batteries, and the darn thing came back to life, with all the pics still intact. So, what are these low-power batteries good for? My camera is tiny, and low maintenance - like a shy, skinny college girl. And yet these name-brand batteries couldn't provide enough juice for it to even open its shutter. Next time I find myself in possession of an appliance that I want to work, but not for long and not to its maximum capacity, I will happily invest in the low-power battery again. Until then, it's the copper-colored top thankyewverymuch.

March is a tough month. Now I am on the board for two volunteer organisations I have two meetings a month. Then there's the rearranged party for my daughter, my writing group meeting, my wife's birthday - all needing significant work before the event. Then there's the usual host of doctor's appointments, birthday parties, and the start of the Easter carnival that lasts about two weeks. If I can manage to get any writing done inbetween, it will be a feat indeed. That said, today should be a good opportunity. I dreamed long and deep last night, thus getting my first R.E.M sleep in more than a month.

One more thing - watching the highlights of the weekend's English Premiership soccer games in England, the reaction of Charlton manager Alan Pardew to his team's equalizer at Watford was very funny if you speak London:

"You beauty!" he yelled, jumping off the bench. "****ing hell - 'ave that!"

My wife suggested the following alternative if you speak New York:

"Yeahhhhhhhhhh! Holy ****! You succccckkkkk!"

Oh, and here's that photo I talked about with the candle about to go out:

"Digital cameras are so great, I... oh shat!"

Yes, it was inevitable.

I've heard all the horror stories about entire weddings/births/parties wiped from a digital camera at the simple accidental press of the 'format' button, but that would never happen to me.

So I'm snapping pics at a surprise re-arranged birthday party for my youngest and it looks like the batteries are about the fail, so I snap one last pic and put the camera away. And now, it's dead. New batteries don't make a difference, the card is reading as 'invalid.' It could have been much, much worse, but lost forever is this one spectacular picture a split-second before my son blew out his birthday candle with the flame bent 90 degrees about to disappear.

Sigh! Bastards!

Return of the Snow

Driving home from our Oscar party last night up in the highlands of Tuxedo, NY, the snow was coming down at a lick. We had planned ahead, cramming the family into the all-wheel drive Subaru as opposed to the zero-traction minivan, but it still was a hairy ride down and across the NJ border.

This morning, we woke to find four inches had fallen. This time yesterday I was playing soccer - in shorts - and glorious near-spring sunshine. The snow from the storm a couple of weeks ago had pretty much all gone.

Today school is cancelled (on the first day after the winter break week) and it's effing freezing outside, meaning once again the majority of the day will be spent indoors, bouncing off the walls and wishing I lived in Arizona.

Now, I'm no snow expert, but this seems at least to be more like "good snow" - that is, big puffy flakes that stick together allowing us to bombard neighbors houses with snowballs. But regardless of the quality of the stuff, I have little choice if I want to leave the house and go anywhere and do anything but to get out the shovel and clear the drive, dig out the car, and clear a path for the mailman. And that bites the big one.