j040319 (imported)
March 19, 2004
For those of you interested: the yes votes beat the no votes by a ratio of 8 to 1. Roxy lives, though that name probably won’t.
For the moment, anyway. If you were a yes’er, feel free to email me with your fawning comments. I’m still at a loss how so many positive votes came out of this. 
Regularly, I joke with Robyn about the advance my book sale will get when a publisher picks it up. The running number I use is $1,700,000, which I’ll freely admit I pulled right out of my ass. And which, I’ll also freely admit, is probably about one hundred times (or more) what the real advance will be.
My agent emailed me earlier this week to tell me a publisher contacted him to find out about purchasing the English print rights for my book.
In India.
And Sri Lanka.
And Pakistan.
And Bangladesh.
And Bhutan.
And Nepal. Somebody get the Dalai Lama a copy of my book!
They haven’t made an offer yet, but they’ve floated the idea of an advance in the mid three-figures.
That’s right. Four hundred (or five hundred, if we push it) bucks.
Pheer me, and my global badass self.
Actually, I’m flattered that someone’s interested in publishing the book over there, but I find delicious irony in the fact that none of those nations really need my book.
Incidentally, if a publisher in Oz picks it up, I reserve the right to insist it be done under the name Frank.
I visited my accountant today (props to her for the super-refund this year, AND for pointing out that my old accountant missed writeoffs in the last several years that, when amended, will bring in another big chunk of money) and I’m pleased to announce that I met with her for a half-hour, and didn’t spit once.
I zinged one by the dental hygenist on Tuesday, though. That was a close one.
There’s nothing like conversing with someone you just woke up, is there?
“Hey,” I said, shaking my wife’s leg earlier today. “I’m going.”
Part of my morning ritual is to wake Robyn for a kiss before I leave for work (on weekdays; on Saturday I wake her before I go to the grocery store), because I’m such a good husband. She rolled over and squinted up at me with one bleary eye.
“I have a question,” I said. Today being Friday, I wanted to hit Bruno’s to see what sort of Little Debbie (yeah, I still eat them sometimes, believe it or not) products they offered. “If you’re standing in the front of Bruno’s–”
“I’m not going to Bruno’s,” Robyn said.
I laughed. “I know you’re not, I am. I meant the general ‘you’.”
I waited for it to sink in before continuing.
“If you’re standing in the front of Bruno’s,” I said, “isn’t the Little Debbie stuff toward the left, near the sodas?”
She considered.
“No, they’re over by the deli.”
“They are? I thought for sure they were near the drinks.”
“Well, maybe the big boxes are, but the individual ones are over by the deli.”
“Bruno’s sells the Little Debbies individual packs? You sure you’re not talking about Krispy Kremes?”
“They’re in a big case over by the deli!”
“I didn’t know they sold the individual ones there. They didn’t mention Bruno’s on the phone.”
Recently, in emails back and forth with the Media Watch folks in Australia, the producer over there suggested (as a joke) that they could send me a VHS version of the story they did about the Men’s Health thing in exchange for some Little Debbie products. I went so far as to call McKee Foods, the owners of the brand, to find a list of local stores stocking the individual packs, so I could send a nice wide selection if it pans out.
“Yeah, they’re in a glass-fronted case by the deli.”
“Why would they put the Little Debbie stuff in a glass case? You’re sure you’re not talking about the Krispy Kremes?”
“No, it’s Little Deb–”
She suddenly looked like she smelled a fart. I cackled.
“SHUT UP!” she yelled, and rolled over into the pillows.
At least now I know where the spud gets it.
Maybe you could send the Little Debbies to India? so they will have a reason to buy your book, the irony is NOT lost on me. Sell a weight loss book to starving people. Heh.
They are not all starving. Sadly, as the ‘western’ way of eating spreads ’round the world, they are going to start looking a lot like us.
Er, that’s a collective ‘us.’ *I* don’t look like that, and I’m sure that neither does anyone posting HERE.
Dang Fred,it may be the power of suggestion ,but I too have been a spitting fool lately.
Yesterday,I saw a small amount of clear(thank gawd)spit spring forth from my mouth as I was in church enthusiasticly singing at chorus practice. It was headed straight for the chorus conductor,a rather frightening woman of stern substance. Luckily it fell short of its mark,and no one noticed- although I broke into such a case of giggles that I had to clench my mouth shut for the rest of the song.
That same day I ran into a young woman who has three of my former birds. I’m always excited when talking about birds (I’m a nerd,I know)and of course,it happened again. Again,luckily no one slimed.
Hey Fred, “touring” old cemetaries is a passion of mine, and I loved your pics of the old statues found in one. By and far one of the best ones I’ve ever seen is in the town I grew up in: Coldwater Michigan. Some of those graves go all the way back to the Civil War and they have some really neat statues and stones. I like the ones that look like trees, with the ivy and squirrels carved on them, and a chunk of the ‘bark’ peeled down to expose a flat surface where the name and date are carved. “Touring” that cemetary is also a great walk, being as how it is big and very hilly.
Do you like cemetaries too or did you just happen to find yourself in one? heh, that sounded funny…..
Kathy,
I’m a big fan of really old stuff — especially cemeteries.
The 1824 grave I pictured is the oldest one I’ve found in there. There’s also a whole section devoted to soldiers from the Civil War period, and several governors. I’m partial to this particular cemetery because I spent so much time there on Friday / Saturday nights in high school (walking, talking, scaring, and hiding).
There’s a tiny old family cemetery off in a pasture near where I once lived in Hickory Hills in Decatur, and I remember graves there dating back to the late 1700’s. Wicked old stuff (no pun intended).
I used to avoid “Little Debbie” items like the plague but I have recently found one that I can’t resist
The “Nutty Bars”. The first one or two I had gave me no idea they were a Little Debbie product because if you buy them by the box each individually wrapped portion does not have a name on it.
But boy are they good!
I’m partial to the Banana Twins, myself.
And the Boston Creme things, but mostly the Banana Twins.
SWISS CAKE ROLLS, BABY!! Preferably chilled in the freezer, so that they can be peeled apart and eaten slowly, layer by layer. I hadn’t had any in about 3 years or more, but grabbed an individual pack on our recent road trip. For $.25? How could I resist?? =)
chilled in the *fridge, not the freezer.
I’m feeling a bit dumb. I’d never heard of Little Debbies until the Oz version came out and we were told that Frank ate Tiny Teddies while Fred ate Little Debbies.
So I just pictured little biscuits (cookies) in the shape of little girls,.. like Tiny Teddies,.. but Little Debbies.
So now I go check out their website and see these really gross looking cakes and things! Ewww!
(Oh… just so you don’t all imagine weird things too… tiny teddies)
I was involved in a very recent spitting story, only I was the spittee, not the spitter. The spitter was none other than my mother. Considering she used to wipe gallons of spit on my apparently dirty childhood face, I guess it didn’t matter much.
I like the really old cemetaries, too. I grew up in Harrisonburg VA and I remember seeing a tiny, crumbling gravestone whose inscription was almost worn off, but one of the dates–couldn’t tell if it was birth or death–was in the 1790s. So cool. (Only in the daytime, though.)
Wait–it’s spelled “cemetery,” isn’t it? Oops.