Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Sunday, January 24, 2021

A Mighty Hoax From A Tiny Eggcorn Grows

A Mighty Hoax From A Tiny Eggcorn Grows

If I had any defecated readers, this would be for them.

By a hair's breath, this could be a tough road to hoe. I'ts even possibly all for knot, due to an alterior motive. Or maybe it's Old-Timer's disease kicking in, something I probably inherited from one of my anisters.

If someone said this to my face we might end up in a bear handed fight because I'd take it as a bold faced lie, and I'd tell him to cease and decease instead of baring witness like that.

You can bet that his chickens would come home to roast and he'd have to come to turns with that. Or end up right in the crutch of the matter and then die of conjunctive heart failure.

But I have to remind myself to curve my enthusiasm to avoid death charges that might be thrown my way. Too many of them and you end up dough-eyed, for sure, at least. And that would require a whole bunch of explanation marks to clarify any far-gone conclusion, avoid financial heartship and flying the flag at half-mass.

For all intensive purposes I would be out of gameful employment, and could get my nipples in a twist over it. Then I might have to girdle my loins and prepare for battle with a taste of granola oil, which would require me to grim and bear it. In lame man's terms though, I would be internally grateful because I'm lack toast and tolerant and can't stand the locust of control being elsewhere.

If it was, I'd even consider making a pack with the devil to hone in on my main concern, which is really much to do about nothing, i.e., no holes barred during an outer body experience, which often occurs while I'm speaking pigeon English and looking for planter warts.

But usually I just play it by year. That way I generally avoid post-dramatic stress disorder as well as post-pardon depression. "Reap what you sew," is what I say, and if not, then ring your hands of the whole deal.

No use standing around soaping wet, holding a spear of influence, trying to spread like wildflowers. Do that and you'll end up stark raven mad, so, for heaven's sake take it with a grain of assault and look out for the invincible hand. It's something you can count on because it's always up to stuff. It's obvious from the right vintage point, and if not, then it's "Whoa is me!", and you're back outside with the windshield factor to deal with, and could be pulled over for wreckless driving.

 

References:

GrammarGasm
GrammarGasm (original link)
The Eggcorn Database
Eggcorn at Wikipedia

 


Have extra info to add?
If the commenting system is out again, then email sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Totally non-defecated.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

The Story Of Citizen-Applicant

A fractured reality.

Citizen-Applicant had business with Government Bureau.

At Government Bureau's office, Citizen-Applicant met Certified-Bureau-Official.

Citizen-Applicant's question was simple. It was general.

Citizen-Applicant sat, then asked.

No.

Citizen-Applicant was instructed to fill out the form. First.

Form?

Name, address, age, date of birth, Government Bureau Identification Number (GBIN), street address, city, state, zip code. Mother's maiden name.

Said Certified-Bureau-Official.

Only a simple, general question applying to any Citizen-Applicant.

Not requiring any personal information.

So how about it?

What if I just ask?

Said Citizen-Applicant.

No. The form. Fill it, Certified-Bureau-Official said. The form must be filled. We have rules. Fill it. The Form. With a Capital. F.

Overruled by Certified-Bureau-Official again and again, Citizen-Applicant complied. Smeared marks onto a plastic card with a thick black marker.

Completion?

No.

Certified-Bureau-Official said Citizen-Applicant's mother was unknown and asked if Citizen-Applicant had been adopted.

No, not even once.

Certified-Bureau-Official was unhappy. Certified-Bureau-Official asked for an updated address.

Address hasn't changed. In 15 years. Said Citizen-Applicant. And not adopted.

Certified-Bureau-Official requested proof.

Citizen-Applicant, bold, asked the question. Anyway.

It was only a simple one. A simple question.

Proof? No proof, said Citizen-Applicant, and I only have a general question.

Ah, simple then, said Certified-Bureau-Official. Come back next month. Come back next month, and we'll give you Letter-A.

But I have Letter-A, said Citizen-Applicant, and I need Letter-B, can I get it now or do I need to wait until my eligibility is no longer a promise but a reality, a fact? What then?

Then?

Yes, said Certified-Bureau-Official. Starting next month, for no particular reason, come again, here, and you can receive Letter-A. If you ask.

I have Letter-A.

I need Letter-B.

Said Citizen-Applicant.

I do not understand said Certified-Bureau-Official. I cannot give you Letter-A until next month.

I have Letter-A.

I need Letter-B.

Said Citizen-Applicant.

Certified-Bureau-Official then assumed a possible martial-arts posture resembling Terrifying Sleeping Dragon. And ceased moving for a bit.

Citizen-Applicant, aware of nearby uniformed guard, did not try crawling.

Under the glass partition.

To strangle.

Certified-Bureau-Official.

For amusement.

Come along then, month after next, when your eligibility is no longer a promise but becomes a monthly fact.

Then we will give you Letter-B, said Senior-Certified-Bureau-Official strolling up to window.

Miraculously.

Letter-B? Said Citizen-Applicant.

You will give Letter-B? To me?

Yes, said Senior-Certified-Bureau-Official.

Letter-B. It will be so. Month after next.

That is what I believed all along, thought Citizen-Applicant, in his car, already blocks away.

It was only a simple question after all.


Coda: So many web sites are like this. How about yours?

More: 8 Ways to Piss Off Your Website Visitors


From: buznutt.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

MMMillington

It's a basic rule of life that you can learn from others.

Well, no, not a rule. Exactly.

Rules all are published in books, aren't they? And each and every one of those books is a textbook. Right? And each textbook is one you have had your nosed stuffed into in grade school. Of course.

Otherwise it isn't a rule. Because rules are important. So important that they are voted on by huge committees of sighing adults, whose entire lives are taken up by the process, and who regard their doings with the utmost respect. And so keep doing those doings until they fall over from either age or exhaustion. Or sometimes, perhaps, from lack of food. So important is the process.

And each item output from the committee is printed posthaste, in a list, in a book, and that book, those books, are distributed immediately. Because of the extreme importance.

These are the rules, after all, and need to be out there.

And one of these rules, near the top of the list, is the one that says you can learn from others. Mostly, I believe, if I've got it right, if I remember it right, is that each and every one of us is required to learn almost every single thing from our parents.

You know who they are.

That's the beauty of it. Parents are handy, and they get paid to bring up loads and loads of children. Messy, loud, vagrant children, sprawling every which way and running into things and making them sticky. Parents have to deal with all this because it is a requirement of the job. And to make up for that, and because of the high rate of pay among parents as well, they inculcate us with the rules.

Of course not all of them work well. Parents. Some parents are faulty, or behind the times. Some simply don't care, or have the right tools. This is true, and this is sad, but this is life. We all live it from time to time, life. And those who live learn. The two go together.

If not from our parents then, we must learn from others.

And that brings us to Mil Millington. And Margret. And "Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About". The only real guide any man would ever need in life. To be honest about it.

Sorry, parents. But this is done better than you can do.

It is one giant web page. If you define "giant" as being full of words. Ask me, it ain't half long enough. And no longer maintained. He had a mailing list, and though I joined it way late, I still got a couple of updates, but it appears that is over now.

Owell.

He has books. "A Certain Chemistry" is my only confirmed read so far. But I do have a copy of "Love and Other Near Death Experiences". The local library has been generous and has agreed to loan me the second one, now that I've returned the first. Or they didn't recognize that it was me again.

Doesn't matter as long as I have the book, and a working lock on my front door. It's mine for a couple of weeks and they won't get it back until I'm done.

And I mean that.

Meanwhile, if you can read, and if you can read with little pain and so on, try "Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About". There's a link at the end of this page. It will do you good. Your parents should rest easier knowing that you're getting honest instruction, especially if they're still alive. Because at minimum, if you are busy reading, you will have no idea which direction they took while sneaking away.

So, a sample:

What Margret and I have, essentially, is a Mexican stand-off with love instead of guns. OK, yes, sometimes there are guns too. The important thing is the mindset, though. Sure, people can argue about important issues, that's fine, good luck to them I say. But where, I ask you, are those people when you take away the meaningful sources of disagreement? Lost. Utterly lost. Let me illustrate the common mistakes amateurs might make using something that happened the other week. You will need:

Margret.

Me.

A roast chicken.

We're having tea and on the table are the plates, a selection of vegetables and a roast chicken in an incredibly hot metal baking tray. Getting this chicken to the table has been an heroic race that ended only fractions of a second short of a major skin graft. Due to this haste it is, however, not sitting precisely centrally on the coaster. Some kind of weird, hippie, neo-Buddhist couple might have failed even at this point and simply got on with eating the meal. Fortunately, Margret is there to become loudly agitated that radiant heat might creep past the edge of the coaster, through the table cloth, through the protective insulating sheet under the table cloth, and affect the second-hand table itself. She shouts and wails. I nudge the tray into the centre of the coaster, but, in doing so, about half a teaspoon of the gravy spills over the side onto the table cloth. Outside birds fall mute, mid-song. Inside, frozen in time, the camera swings around us sitting at the table, like in The Matrix.

'What the hell did you do that for? Quick, clean it up - quick,' insists Margret (where an amateur would have, say, shrugged).

'No,' I reply (at the moment when another amateur would have been returning from the kitchen with a cloth), 'I'm eating my tea. I'm going to sit here and eat my tea. Then I'll clean it up.'

'No, clean it up now.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No. I'm going to eat my tea first.'

'Clean it up now.'

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, so a couple of semi-pros might have worked this up into a shouting match. But I am not about to stoop to childish name-calling. Instead I lift up the tray and pour some more gravy onto the table.

'OK?' I say, 'Now stop it. I'll clean it up after.'

'Clean it up now.'

I tip a little more gravy onto the table.

'I'm just going to keep doing it every time you say that. I'll clean it up later.'

'Do it now.'

More gravy.

'Now.'

More gravy.

This continues until we run out of gravy.

I must make it clear that my actions here seemed perfectly rational at the time. I've mulled them over since, of course, and am relieved to find that they still hold up to examination: it's pleasing to know I can make good decisions under pressure. Anyway, we eat the meal from a table awash with gravy. I am happy to have argued my point persuasively. Margret has a smile fixed to her face due to the belief (incorrect, yes, but it's only her enjoyment that matters) that I've clearly done something hugely stupid that she can bring up later in any number of arguments - possibly years from now. Everyone wins. We eat, united in contentment. I clean up the table.

Do you see? I want everyone to try this out at home and write me a report for next week.


References:

Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About web page.
Love and Other Near-Death Experiences: A Novel by Mil Millington
Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About: A Novel by Mil Millington

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Wirting. Harder then I thouhgt.

Once upon a time I thought it might be nice to write a book.

In fact I thought it would be a lot more than nice. A career, maybe. An ongoing quest. A mission. A calling. Maybe it is. And maybe it is for me. Sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do, all else be damned.

After all, I'm the guy who quit his last job after coming to the realization that he'd rather die than keep working there. So far that's been working out for me. Ain't dead, ain't working there.

Haven't been earning any money legally, but three things are amazing: how much I put away when I was working, how little I need to live, and how much a rising stock market can make up for me being flaky and just walking out of a job that paid a lot more than I needed.

Everyone should be so lucky. And so frugal. Or not. It takes a toll. Even I wake up in the middle of the night and say (out loud, to myself) "Man, you are one weird dude, dude."

So who isn't?

Something I realized a long time ago. Everyone is crazy. Twitchy, jumpy, hopping up and down, bug-eyed mouth-foaming wild-eyed, perversely crazy. It just depends on what you like, personally speaking.

Just cuz you like it don't mean it's right. It means you feel OK with it going off in your pocket. That and not a whisker more. That and nothing else. That is how everyone is. They may be better or worse than you in some subjective or objective sense or some other sense, but it don't make no never mind. Basically we all run on the same rails. Period.

So where was I then? Writing, yes I was.

I wrote a book. A pretty good one, for a faker. I put things together and the words didn't fight except where I wanted them to, and looked pretty in the other places, and the book she was a good one. Not great literature, not scary, not something that would knock you right flat on your whodunit under any circumstances, but it was good, and still is.

Modern publishing made it possible. Because I knew I had a way to make it available, even if no one ever bought it. I could do this without spending a year writing and six months editing and three months making photographs and one month designing the cover and then still have to spend $10,000 at a vanity press because no publisher would touch it with any number of 10-foot poles taped together, even if allowed to wear a gas mask and rubber gloves.

I did it.

And then I had to format it and upload it to Lulu.com.

Now the next part is not going to be any more interesting than what you've just read. I'm not going to uncover any seamy creepy stories of hair pulling and corporate malfeasance. Nothing interesting happened at all, in fact, and there is no plot to what I will next write, so be warned.

But it was still ugly.

Luckily I have OpenOffice. I mostly don't have any complaint, except that there is so much there, and so little documentation. I know I could do more with it, it I could figure out how, but slowly, I can, mostly (though the table of contents and indexing features are still mostly opaque).

OpenOffice is actually a joy, compared to Microsoft Office. One of the neatest things is that you can export a document as an Adobe Acrobat (PDF) document. This is so cool. Just do it, and it happens, and it works.

That was the big half. The little half, the part that took 90% of my time for weeks on end, was laying in my text and getting it formatted right. I started out a little wrong and had to keep correcting things I thought I'd already done. Yeah, OK, the learning curve thing, and I kept bending it in ways it didn't want to be bent. I should have learned first how to make styles and a template, and then laid things into that, and the whole process would have gone so much easier.

But of course I didn't, and maybe no one does, so it went on nearly forever, over and over and over again.

This was the hard part, really. For every day I spent formatting my book I probably lost two or three days of writing time. Days I could have used to start on the next book, or to market the first one. I'm a slow learner.

But eventually that got done. Eventually.

Then later I decided I maybe really should buy a distribution plan so that outfits like Amazon could list my book and maybe the first book would then (slowly) generate some (moderate) buzz and I could materialize on the world's radar (a bit at at time).

Except that for some reason OpenOffice isn't good enough to generate PDF files for this. You have to produce them from Adobe Acrobat, which costs something just shy of $1000. And accepts only Microsoft Word documents, not OpenOffice documents. Lucky me.

But Lulu.com accepts Microsoft Word documents, and will generate PDFs on their end, and OpenOffice can output Microsoft Word documents, so I'm OK, right? Yeah, right, as they say.

Several more months of work.

First, I had to learn Google Sketchup, which is a great little program. I wanted to enhance some of the illustrations while I was at it, and Sketchup's 3-D images were great. But this took a while.

So OK, done.

Next, getting OpenOffice to properly output Microsoft Word documents which it does pretty well, but there are limitations. Two areas specifically, images and web links.

I didn't want to embed any links in the text, but I do have some that I wish to display as text. Hard. Very hard. OpenOffice wants to make them blue, with underlines, if exporting as Microsoft Word documents. Pure hell to get this right. Finally gave up and then tried to get all of them blue and underlined, which was also pure hell undoing behind the scenes confusion inside the document. In the end it all sort of worked, sort of.

But images. Never did get that quite working. They do fine in OpenOffice but not in Microsoft Word documents. For some reason the latter format encourages image to move around inside the document pretty much willy nilly. Captions, too.

I eventually learned that you can put a border on all four sides of an image (no just on one, two, three or all four sides as with pure OpenOffice), and then lock the image in place and then click on the "caption" option which will link the caption to the document, sort of generating a box something like a siamese twin of the image into which you can put text for a caption, keeping them bound together.

And after weeks and weeks of screwing around I got that to work well enough.

Done, save for one last indignity.

And that was that since uploading, I would have to forgo any exotic typefaces that I have installed, and instead use the generic few that Lulu.com has. Which means that I had to drop all my chapter titles and story titles and subheadings and drop caps in Pupcat and use plain old mush, which made the book visually boring.

All this, and Lulu.com was able to print my book just fine the old way, when I generated the PDF from OpenOffice and uploaded that. But there seems to be some secret arcane witchcraft involved when they make the book available to everyone that they say prevents doing just this very same thing. So they say you have to do the other thing, which is where I lost weeks and weeks of my life.

Dang.

But I got it done.

Had to upload the nine meg document about a dozen times because it just wouldn't format correctly when converted to PDF. That, and then download a 22meg PDF to view it. Around in circles, tail, chasing the.

So finally, done. And then I began playing with Scribus, the desktop publishing program, which looks really good but is about halfway there. Will be magnificent when they get it complete. Pretty solid now, but you have to push hard to make it go. Supposedly it is one of the very best in the world at outputting PDF documents.

I used it on my second book, which is an excerpt of the first, just the few technical chapters at the end. Anyway, it allows me to use Pupcat and solidly place images and precisely align text, and it all stays just where I put it though I have to manually format each and every single paragraph and heading and caption, and that is maddening and maddening and error prone. And it doesn't do automatic hyphenation. If you turn on hyphenation it will ask you three or four questions about each word as it lays them in, and you can't see even a whole line while it's doing this, so hyphenation is almost useless. Or unimaginably error-prone if you decide to continue because it will make you crosseyed and then make you howl.

Yeeg.

The story of my life. But at least I finished the second book. It is 83 pages compared to the original book which is 320 pages (after I removed a lot of nice white space -- originally 372 pages).

Then I found a couple of errors in the main book, which I had spent weeks formatting just to make it ugly and acceptable to Microsoft Word format.

So now I don't know what I'm going to do.

I want to get back to writing, but I still have an unformatted book. It would be a huge amount of work to reformat it using Scribus and I don't know if that would ultimately work or not (who knows who these prickly unforgiving printers are anyway). So I may eventually reformat in Scribus and if that doesn't work, drop back to what I have now in Word format (after correcting the typos).

And then again I wonder if I just shouldn't stay with what I have, use OpenOffice, generate PDFs the easy way, sell exclusively through Lulu.com, and put my real effort into marketing.

I keep trying to figure out what I would do if I was smart, and that ain't easy.

References:
Dave's Guides
OpenOffice
Scribus
Sketchup