Author Archive

Meta Force Five!!

April 11, 2011

Hero: Cyberfunk

Genre: Sci-Fi Detective

Primary Power: Obsessive Internet Stalking

Secondary Power: Saying “Neat-o!” so you don’t have to.



Hero: Marigold

Genre: Magical Realism

Primary Power: Blithely wandering through a beautifully self-contradictory world.

Secondary Power: Making chick lit acceptable to women with liberal arts degrees.


MC Narwhal vs. Sebs: MC Narhwal #1

February 16, 2011

And so it begins.

February 15, 2011
me:  D&D, PVP, R-E-S-P-E-C-T
me:  On my leet sheet I’m the guy to beat
Sebatinsky:  you should write one
me:  I larp while you carp about thaco ’til your wacko
Sebatinsky:  yeah, but I don’t actually want to say any of that
me:  You gotta thug it up.
Your minions got opinions they should pinion you to the engine
Sebatinsky:  dude — write it!
fo serious
we can have a rap off
me:  of a steampunk cadillac heading to the back of this whack attack
Sebatinsky:  if we do that
I might actually write some nerdcore and deliver it
Do you accept my challenge to a nerdtastic rap battle?
me:  I do!

Another “Creative” Dating Message I Sent

January 9, 2011

This girl on okcupid said attepting to write witty emails stressed her out, and she’d rather just skip to the getting-a-drink stage. So I thought I’d save her the trouble and write her responses for her. Enjoy.


Maybe this is why I can’t get laid.

December 19, 2010

This is a message I’m sending out regarding a first date. These date ideas may illuminate my problem.

Tuesday sounds good to me. I want to check out this museum but it would be closed by the time you could get there: Maybe another time?

What else could we do? Hmm. Besides grabbing a drink maybe (alcoholic, caffeinated, and/or sugar-filled), how about something active, like bowling or ping pong? I’m not particularly good at either, but enjoy them nonetheless, in an also-not-particularly-trying-to-get-better-at-them way. There’s ping pong in the city I know (ever been to Fat Cat?), and there’s this place very near me in Westfield that lets you use their tables once without their (exorbitant) membership. Alternately, if you’re huge into ping pong but Westfield killed your father, there’s a place in Somerset that charges $5 for a day of ping pong.

Or we could just sit in a cafe and make balloon animals and draw.


Here’s a silly Colin-trying-to-be-efficient idea: have you finished all of your Christmas shopping? I have not finished all of my Christmas shopping, and so if you have not finished all of your Christmas shopping, maybe we could finish all of our Christmas shopping. Or maybe that would be boring.

Let me know!


Why You Should Drink Chocolate Milk

November 26, 2010

I had to liven up speech class, so I wrote one on why you should drink chocolate milk. Here are the notes for the speech, which were really pretty close to the version given in the actual speech. Enjoy.

intro: middle ground btw. heatlhy stuff like sports drinks and milk and unhealthy sweet drinks like soda. Sweet like soda, healthy as milk and sports drinks. And it’s okay to act like a kid now and again.
1. Gives you things sports drinks and soda don’t.
1a. Soda doesn’t even come close: no nutritional value, no vitamins and minerals, no calcium. In fact it harms bones, says a 2006 Tufts University study, because phosphoric acid can leech calcium from your system.
1b. Sports drinks are better for you than soda, obviously. And some companies add vitamins and minerals to their sports drinks. But it’s still no comparison to the amount of vitamins and minerals and calcium that occur naturally in milk.
2. Not quite as good for you in some ways as milk or sports drinks.
2a. The only way it gets beat by sports drinks is in hydration. But those are really two different uses for drinks. It’s like, you wouldn’t use the hammer end of a hammer to get nails out, and you wouldn’t use the claw end to get a nail in. Well, chocolate milk is good for nutrition and because it tastes awesome, and sports drinks are good for hydration. Don’t drink sports drinks for nutrition or because you want something that tastes good, and don’t drink chocolate milk  when you’re exercising. And also, don’t confuse the metaphor and hit your drinks with hammers. I’ll tell you from personal experience that it’s a bad scene.
2b. Not as good for you as milk because of the added sugars. But while chocolate milk can have between 20g and 25g of sugar per 8 ounce serving, which on the upper end is close to soda’s 26g, 13g of that is the natural sugar in milk, leaving only 7-12g in ADDED sugar, which is the sugar that doesn’t occur naturally, has no nutritional value, and is bad for your heart, according to the American Heart Association. While soda’s 26g are all added sugar. And so 7-12g of added sugar extra that chocolate milk has more than milk isn’t that big a deal, considering all the other health benefits of milk are intact, and it doesn’t taste like skim milk.
3. I won’t spend too much time on this next point because it’s subjective, but chocolate milk has the best taste of anything ever in the history of ever. Point made. Don’t need to back that up, because it’s unbackupable and also so obviously true. Chocolate milk tastes awesome. Moving on.
4. My last point is kind of subjective too, but hear me out. I think we’ve forgotten a lot of stuff we knew as kids. Now, granted, some of the stuff we knew as kids was wrong. Like when I thought that girls were icky and had cooties. And that you told a girl you liked her by punching her and running away. (Although I guess that part’s still somewhat true. But that’s a different issue entirely.) The important thing is, there’s plenty of stuff we’ve forgotten about relaxing and having fun. We need to play tag before we’re old and can’t do it anymore. We need to wear shoes with spiderman on them. Maybe even ones that light up when we walk, which is something I’m jealous that my generation totally missed out on. We need to have more of our dates be play dates where we build things out of blocks together. I think we just need to get over ourselves and our need to look like grown-ups, and instead find joy in goofing off in an unselfconscious way.
So grab some chocolate milk. It’s way better for you than soda and tastes better than milk and sports drinks. And maybe when you’ve chugged it down you’ll find a little bit of childhood stuck down there at the bottom. You should probably still wash it out pretty well and recycle it though, because childhood can start to smell things up after a while. Thanks for listening.

A Novel Beginning

November 25, 2010

Don’t know if I’ll finish it — or even middle it — but here’s an okay beginning to the novel I’ve been intending to write for a good while:

The alarm clock klaxon’d the rhythm of my find-it dance, a particularly spastic ballet thanks to the obstacle course my roommate had set up during the night. I tripped over the barbell I seldom lifted, had to crawl under a reconfigured bookshelf that dropped a precariously placed Ayn Rand tome on my head, and finally found my alarm taped to the ceiling of my walk-in closet.

When I emerged into the living room I was not exactly a phoenix burning anew –although my mouth did taste ashy from the dinner I’d overcooked the night before. Lou was on the couch watching a nature reality show — and admiring her fingernails while awaiting my review.

“Good job on the bookshelf,” I said. “How long did that take you?”

She shook her head, full of many rues. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Well, I appreciate it. By the time I got the alarm out of its duct tape I was awake enough not to try to just reset it. My continued employment thanks you.”

“You’re welcome.”

My New Blog and General Randomness

November 24, 2010

Fiction’s eluded me lately, what with school and balloons, so I thought I’d blog some random thoughts.

1. New blog! http://squeakylane.blogspot com/ is your one-stop shop for all things balloon animals. Clearly this is what has been missing in your life.

2. Fake tits are weird. A friend of mine in Buffalo dated a girl with fake tits, and he was crazy for it. But I’ve always been into a more natural look, even preferring girls with hairy armpits and weird orgasm faces, and so the last thing I want to see in bed is two perfect plastic globules. Seriously, you just wanna shake those things until snow starts falling on a miniature Kremlin. And most girls aren’t into that.

3. We didn’t have play dates when I was a kid, really, and I’m trying to make up for it. My “dates” lately have included ping pong, speed scrabble, apple picking, and crocheting. Now, granted, I haven’t gotten laid out of any of those dates. But I’ve at least had fun not getting laid, which is a nice change of pace.

4. Professors really can make or break a class. I love reading contemporary fiction much more than Old Dead White Guys, and so my Recent British Fiction class’ reading list has been introducing me to a lot of amazing authors, but the problem is that you can’t really talk about a book’s importance and place in the Western canon until some time has passed, and my professor isn’t doing a particularly good job of talking about these books’ influences or style or literary experiments. My Literary Modernism professor, on the other hand, is doing a great job of making me look forward to finishing Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein, if not look forward to actually reading them, just because of the fantastic discussions we have about intersections of social mores and economics and culture and  politics and artistic movements. I’ll probably learn a lot more about the contemporary fiction I’m reading by reviewing it, which I’ll do in this space sometime in December.

Until then,

Unexpectedly Yours,


15 Minute Prompt

October 28, 2010

Wrote this (beginning of a) story in 15 minutes for an okc girl whose profile dared me to. It required very little post-15-minute editing. This is proof that I am (a) awesome and (b) wasting my writing time on “projects” such as this.


So once there was a man named Rita. He’d been named Rita by a big fan of that A Boy Named Sue song that Johnny Cash sings. (Did you know that Shel Silverstein wrote that song? Neither did I!) Only, Rita wasn’t affected by it none. It didn’t toughen him up on account of he was kind of oblivious to the taunts that came his way. He achieved this sort of blindness to the opinions of others through a combination of meditation and having a very distracting doorway to another world in the back of his closet.

Rita found the doorway when he was 7. Actually, he was never sure if he’d seen it even younger, in the way that you’re never quite sure if the monsters you saw when you were 5 were real or not. But by the time he was 7, he was old enough to be pretty objectively sure that what occasionally appeared in his closet was a real honest to godliness interdimensional portal. He first tested it in an objectively sure way by flinging his least favorite textbook through. And then jumping under the covers of his bed. Just to be on the safe side.

He stayed under there with a lighter ready to be lit for long seconds before peeking out again. In later years, he wondered what he’d hoped to do with the lighter if, say, alien robot monkey warriors had emerged from the wormhole. It was his dad’s lighter, and he supposed that must have been calming to him. Even though his dad was sometimes not so nice to him.

Regardless of the lighter’s potential efficacy as a ward against metal-plated insurrectionist simians from other worlds, it was unneeded in this case. As soon as Rita peeked out again, about 35 seconds after he’d thrown the textbook through, something emerged from the portal. It slid across the floor, spinning, and thumped into his bed. It wasn’t until after he put out the fire on his blanket (thanks in no small part to some flat Pepsi in a cup near his bookshelf) that he had time to look and see that the something was, in fact, the textbook again. With, he soon found, all of the reading comprehension questions answered. In essay form.

The only part of Heart of Darkness that Meta-Loving High School Me enjoyed.

September 19, 2010

“He was just a word for me. I did not see the man in the name any more than you do. Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream–making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams. . . .”

He was silent for a while.

“. . . No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence,–that which makes its truth, its meaning–its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream–alone. . .”