Cut and Paste game.

[aliantha]

Comedic Duos:
1. Martin & Lewis
2. Penn & Teller
3. Abbott and Costello

[mrsnull]

Nick de la Torre : Chronicle Lake Jackson's shining star
Watch as hundreds pay tribute to Army Spc. Monica Brown, only the second woman since World War II to receive a Silver Star.

[sgt.null]

www.stefanirestaurants.com/images/437-vertical-s.jpg

[magickmaker17]

www.mesalek.com/colo/picts/i70ex438_ds.jpg

[magickmaker17]

OK
The server encountered an internal error or misconfiguration and was unable to complete your request.

Please contact the server administrator, webmaster@ihugny.com and inform them of the time the error occurred, and anything you might have done that may have caused the error.

More information about this error may be available in the server error log.

Additionally, a 404 Not Found error was encountered while trying to use an ErrorDocument to handle the request.
Apache/1.3.37 Server at kevinswatch.ihugny.com Port 80

[aTOMiC]

www.byrnerobotics.com/forum/forum_topics.asp?FID=3

[Dragonlily]

THE BAD SEED
Maurilia Meehan
BeWrite Books, 2005
Reviewed by Joy Calderwood

Australia

Agatha Hock has been living in a fantasy life. Her daughter is gone, her husband is gone, and she makes her living writing a popular newspaper column which chronicles a garden she doesn't have. Not for the newspapers that spattered the story of her missing daughter all over Australia. Not for the newspapers that made it so impossible for her husband to forget their loss that he took off for the Outback. Agatha writes for the quiet, ladylike Womanly You.

Career crisis. Agatha has given her editor the impression that her garden is real. Now he wants to run a contest, with First Prize being a tour of Agatha's presumably lovely estate. Agatha must acquire an estate. Enter the witch's house.

We were introduced to the reputed witch shortly before her death. Her empty house is so rundown one would think it was better off bulldozed, but Agatha needs a garden, and she buys it. And here comes the war: blackberries vs. Agatha. She wins the first round but loses all the later ones, so that the garden she winds up is quite different than the Shakespeare Garden she planned.

"Are there any other people in this story?" you might ask after reading for a while. With relief I can answer that: There are. On page forty-one another set of characters enters the book. Gradually people converge more or less mysteriously on Agatha Springs, and our many questions begin to be answered.

THE BAD SEED is a horror novel based on character. During the first pages I felt like I had to brush away the clinging folds of a shroud from my face so I could read. Agatha's loss of contact with reality is tangible, made so by the convoluted, fantasy-flavored writing of author Maurilia Meehan. She never allows us to forget that we cannot trust Agatha's realities, including her view of the people in her life.

THE BAD SEED is the fifth book by Maurilia Meehan. In manuscript version it was shortlisted for the Australian Vogel Award. For me it was claustrophobic, but for horror lovers it will be a tasty new experience.

June 2008

[sgt.null]

Stop encouraging dAN -- he's an annoying git.

[Dragonlily]

Miami Tennis 3-31-08: Roddick-Minar 240

[Chrysalis]

Yellow-painted standard #2 pencil

[Dragonlily]

@ Terminator 2: Judgment Day 656, DVD {Arnold, Hamilton,
Furlong}

[sgt.null]

www.complex.com/blogs/wp-content/upload ... space1.jpg

[Dragonlily]

Wherever you found them, research carefully for what kind of intro letter, synopsis and format they want, and conform to the specs each agent wants. They will be judging partly by whether you are able to follow instructions.

Some of them will specify that they don't want simultaneous submissions -- they want exclusivity. That's the more time-consuming way for you, obviously, when you have to wait for one agent's opinion before you can try anyone else. It can take months, and they don't have to put up with authors who "nag" them. It may also mean they are good enough that they can afford to be especially picky.

If you find in their resume that they have worked for a publishing house, it may mean that they have especially useful contacts -- though not necessarily, because they may have fought like cats & dogs with fellow workers, lol.

[sgt.null]

Paste the last thing you Copied Paste w/e you last copied.

[Dragonlily]

Subject: Review/Feature Suggestion: Beth Gutcheon's GOOD-BYE AND AMEN

Dear Joy,

The trouble started when Jimmy took the piano….
So begins GOOD-BYE AND AMEN, Beth Gutcheon's compelling new novel. While it stands entirely on its own, lovers of her previous novel LEEWAY COTTAGE will be delighted to learn that this story picks up where LEEWAY COTTAGE ended. In GOOD-BYE AND AMEN, Gutcheon presents a remarkable, multilayered tale of several generations of the Moss family and the single house that binds them together. Told in overlapping, oftentimes contradictory voices, GOOD-BYE AND AMEN deftly explores love and family, past and present, memory and illusion to reveal what happens to a family when its center, the parents, are gone for good.

Beth Gutcheon's critically acclaimed LEEWAY COTTAGE was a vivid tale of war and the marriage of Danish pianist Laurus Moss to the provincial American child of privilege Sydney Brant. The marriage was a mystery to many who knew them, including their three children. Now, in GOOD-BYE AND AMEN (William Morrow; Hardcover; on-sale July 22nd), Gutcheon focuses on the three grown Moss children, who have to decide how to divide or share what Laurus and Sydney have left them.

Secure and cheerful Eleanor, the oldest, wants little for herself but much for her children. Monica, the least-loved middle child, brings her scars from her youth to the table, as well as the baggage of a difficult marriage to the charismatic Norman, who left a brilliant legal career, though not his ambition, to become an Episcopal priest. Youngest and best-loved Jimmy, who made a train wreck of his young adulthood, has returned after a long period of alienation from the family surprisingly intact, but extremely hard for his sisters to read.

Together they grew up in family rich in material possessions but lacking in love or emotional safety, courtesy of a sometimes distant father and notoriously difficult mother. But the children, bound by blood and shared memories, also share a deep-seated attachment to the summer home that for years has kept generations of their family connected. The risk they now face is in letting their emotions get in the way of preserving the one thing that can keep them together --- a house that has always been at the center of their lives. But the challenge is almost too great to overcome.

Bestselling novelist Karen Joy Fowler, author of THE JANE AUSTEN BOOK CLUB called GOOD-BYE AND AMEN "A tour de force of structure and voice. Gutcheon had me at the first sentence and I didn't put the book down until I had finished it. Marvelous and memorable."

I am writing on behalf of Morrow to see if you would like to receive a copy of GOOD-BYE AND AMEN to review on your site. Readers can find out more about Beth Gutcheon and GOOD-BYE AND AMEN online:

-About GOOD-BYE AND AMEN: www.bethgutcheon.com/pgs/goodbye_amen.html
-About Beth Gutcheon: www.bethgutcheon.com/pgs/bgbio.html
-Meet Beth Gutcheon: www.bethgutcheon.com/pgs/booktour.html
-Sign up for news about Beth Gutcheon's Author Tracker for news on books and promotions: www.bethgutcheon.com/pgs/sign_up.html
More praise for Gutcheon's work:

"Beth Gutcheon is a wonderful writer." ---Anne Lamott

"Few in America write as well about marriage, divorce, and the family ties which both unite and torture us all." ---Pat Conroy

"Beth Gutcheon speaks truly and poignantly of two places that haunt me—the rich, dark country of the Maine coast and the rich, dark country of the human heart." ---Anne Rivers Siddons

"Gutcheon evinces, with stark and elemental resonance, the way love and hatred shape lives." ---New York Times Book Review

"Gutcheon's gift is for pure storytelling. . . . Her characters and settngs are alive, sparkling with deft touches of period detail; her narrative voice is knowing and wry, exasperated and affectionate." ---New York Newsday

I hope you will consider writing about GOOD-BYE AND AMEN on your site. Please contact me for a review copy, to request an interview with Beth Gutcheon, or if you have any questions or comments. I look forward to hearing from you.

All best,

[Dragonlily]

Bumping this pleasantly random game.

Sergeants Mess Games Night

One of the oldest traditions in the Army is the Sergeant's Mess Games Night. It is a time of "joyous merriment" and is often conducted between different units. To add vigour and vitality to the event large amounts of alcohol were usually consumed which guaranteed a certain amount of "Murphy's Law" when it came to the outcome of many of the activities. The games could range from apparently harmless darts and indoor golf, right through to mess rugby, a vicious, no-holds-barred event where opponents tried to maim one another while thoroughly enjoying themselves.
One Friday evening members of a battalion's Sergeants Mess drove over to Sandhurst Officer Cadet Academy Sergeants Mess to enjoy a few pleasant hours of fun. The invitation came from a very famous Guards RSM, J.C. Lord, a military legend in his time, known by associates and enemies alike as JC because of his God-like personality. The man was your typical old school RSM that loved drill, straight lines, highly polished brass and the Military Law Manual.
JC was a curious enigma in that he started life as a Gobbin, and during the Second World War transferred to the Parachute Regiment as the first RSM to the 3rd Battalion. But like Darth Vader in Star Wars, at the end of hostilities the inner urge was so compelling that he went over to the "Dark Side" once again, in this case to his former regiment, the Gobbins. And it was as a fully paid up Gobbin that he invited the members of the Parachute Regiment to his mess.
Like any games night, regardless of the contest, the night would also be a giant orgy of alcohol; the difference was the way each group conducted themselves while partaking. Sandhurst, the home of young gentlemen Officer Cadets, always behaved with decorum even when drunk; JC wouldn't permit anything else. Whereas the members of the Parachute Regiment thought decorum was Latin for a very particular sexual deviation, and behaved as such.
The downward slide into chaos started when Fred, a Staff Sergeant, acquired a tiny live frog and furtively dropped it into a pint of dark Guiness stout belonging to a Warrant Officer who happened to be talking with JC. The man lifted the pint and took the usual big gulp. His face turned puce, mystifying those not in the know, when he realised that whatever he'd swallowed had legs and was alive. As he was a member of the Irish Guards he did an apoplectic version of the Irish jig in an effort to get it out. Unfortunately, although the frog escaped from his oral cavity when he vomited, it didn't escape from under his tap dancing boot. There was a howl of laughter from almost everyone in the bar area, but it was quickly silenced by an evil stare from JC.
From then on the games night slipped further and further into a depraved drunken binge. The Sandhurst members took the whole thing seriously and actually tried to win each game even though they drank their beer like it was going out of fashion. The Paras, on the other hand, simply got pissed as parrots and acted like raving lunatics, not giving a hoot who won.
Throughout the night both RSMs stood at one end of the bar chatting quietly, maintaining the detachment required of such men. Each became quietly inebriated in the time honoured manner required of their rank and status even though their consumption rate equalled that of anyone else present.
The obvious result of the night's festivities was that the Paras got trounced in every game imaginable, except mess rugby, and that ended up in a brutal tussle that caused several potentially serious injuries to both sides. Nevertheless the overall result was a gigantic win for the Sandhurst Sergeants Mess. Having trounced the Paras, JC could now "twizzle" his regulation moustache and inwardly gloat. Without a doubt his move to the Dark Side had changed the man dramatically. Not only did he hate long haired scruffy civilians, he disliked anyone who didn't march around like a wind up clockwork toy. So, res ipsa loquitur, he privately detested Paras.
Although alcohol and lack of serious commitment were the contributing factors to the loss of the games night, getting so soundly beaten was not easy to swallow by most of the befuddled airborne warriors. Paras are resentful creatures at the best of times, and whenever they settle scores they tend to go over the top.
It was decided they would console their wounded pride by an act of outright theft – they would steal some valuable items belonging to the Mess, in this case silver candlesticks and statuettes. So with the skill of a blind one handed burglar with only three fingers they actually succeeded without being caught.
All this happened unbeknown to either RSM, who were now standing next to a lovely fireplace partaking in the last glass of fine port. It was in the early hours of Saturday morning that the Para RSM was eventually dropped off at his married quarters in Aldershot while the majority of the Mess members headed back to the Sergeants Mess to celebrate their brilliant coup.
The "borrowed" silver was stashed somewhere safe and the bar was opened for a final drink before everyone stumbled into dark corners of the Mess to get some sleep. At 0930 hours the Orderly Sergeant rounded everybody up and informed them that the RSM wanted to see them immediately to explain how the Mess had suddenly acquired all this new silver.
It seemed that Sandhurst had finally noticed the items were missing and had put and two together and come up with five. The battalion Orderly Officer was informed, and he naturally passed it on to the Orderly Sergeant. As much as he tried he couldn't find the items or get any sense out of the comatosed Sergeants and Warrant Officers. So a vehicle was dispatched to the RSM's home to see if he knew anything about it. He put two and two together and came up with four.
Fifteen-odd Sergeants, Staff Sergeants and Warrant Officers were soon standing very unsteadily in front of the RSM, trying extremely hard to come up with some unbelievable story about the silver, which by then had miraculously been found. And he was not a happy man, having been dragged out of a warm bed to sort the problem out.
He was just about to hand out extra duties when the phone rang. It was JC demanding he get his mess silver back forthwith, and he was using succinct terms that would make a Mother Superior blush. One thing about JC, he always spoke his mind, but on this occasion he could have been a little more tactful. He forgot he was addressing somebody of equal rank, someone who would not appreciate being abused by anybody, especially a person who'd gone over to the Dark Side.
Halfway through the conversation JC found the line had gone dead. The RSM had put the phone down, he'd heard enough. He had gone beyond being angry, he was livid, and it wasn't because of the liberated silver, it was JC's abrupt and abusive manner.
While he was still deliberating what he would do there was a loud knock on the front door of the mess. When it was opened, standing there was an extremely tall Guards Sergeant. He was invited into the mess to face an RSM still seething over the phone call. The poor Sergeant was stuck between a rock and a hard place as he did not want to go back to JC without the silver, but at the same time he did not want to aggravate this seething RSM any more than he already was. So he launched into a pre-prepared speech. "Sir, RSM J.C. Lord MVO, MBE, in his role as mess president of Sandhurst Sergeants Mess, requests the return of the Mess silver 'borrowed' by some of your members."
The RSM was only five foot four inches tall, and he was literally looking up this Guardsman's nose when he spoke to him. This fact alone did not please him, as he had a thing about looking up anyone's nose, let alone a Gobbins. He deliberately waited a long while before he spoke. Finally he uttered, "He wants me to do what, Laddy?"
There was a pregnant silence as the poor Sergeant tried desperately to rephrase what he'd conveyed. He couldn't. In the end he did a face saving repeat of what he'd been told to say. Having spoken, he then stood rigidly to attention with his peak cap under his left arm waiting for the sky to fall upon him. He got the shock of his life when he was told, "Have a pint, Lad."
The Sergeant was flabbergasted, and frantically tried to grasp the intent of the request, and then replied, "Sorry, Sir, but I am officially on duty and not permitted to drink!"
Without blinking an eye the RSM responded, "You'll have a pint, Sergeant, and that's an order, or Her Royal Majesty will be looking for a new Sergeant of Guards, as he'll be sitting in my cells with little fucking prospect of getting out this side of Easter." The next thing everyone knew was the Mess bar was opened and everyone was told to have a pint on the RSM's card, which meant it would be free.
In no time at all the members present had pints in their hand and the Guards Sergeant was drinking one with the RSM. Sadly for him he'd only just come on duty that morning and was still suffering greatly from the previous nights indulgence, so it only took four or five pints to get him talking in Braille.
While this was going on there were numerous phone calls from Sandhurst demanding to know what was going on, all of which were answered by the RSM who would listen for the ranting to begin and would then hang up.
The moment it was obvious that the young Sergeant was incapable of walking on his own, and would therefore be in deep trouble when he got back to Sandhurst, the RSM took a final sup of his beer. With a wicked grin he said, "Ok, lads, I'm fucking tired of looking at this ugly twat. Get rid of him and the precious silver we accidentally found."
Outside the Mess was a Land Rover driver waiting patiently for his Sergeant to appear. He was slightly taken aback when he looked in his rear view mirror and saw a whole load of Sergeants carrying his leader between them. The Sergeant was dumped unceremoniously in the passenger's seat with his peak cap precariously perched upon his head. His Guards cap badge had been removed and replaced with a Parachute Regiment one. The silver was in a box that was dropped in the back of the vehicle.
Before the Land Rover drove off a head appeared by the driver's side window and a gruff Scottish voice said, "Take your wee man home, he's had a few drams. And drive carefully or you'll wake him up."
For some mysterious reason there was no phone call from Sandhurst to thank the Paras for the return of the "lost" silver. They were never invited back, either. Everyone assumed that Sandhurst were bad winners.

[sgt.null]

In the spirit of 'winning is everything'.....Yankees management have taken a policy change some call "desperate".......forced colonic detox for every player.......details of frequency are unstated, and it's unclear if timing will be related to performance on the field.

[Mysteweave]

class="affie" onmouseover="this.style.MozOpacity=1;this.filters.alpha.opacity=100" onmouseout="this.style.MozOpacity=0.5;this.filters.alpha.opacity=50"

[sgt.null]

icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/funny-pictures-cat-has-a-bad-drivers-license-photo.jpg

[Dragonlily]

jr (1/1/2009 10:21:16 AM): I did the chapter breaks for SWAYING. We needed to find out how many pages it was going to have, to make a fairly even division between it and FLOATING. Wrote to Roger that he can pick out the stories to transfer, if he wants.