Quite a bit of rain has fallen on me. Not heavy rains, but soft whispering rains that pester me from just over my shoulder even as I see sunlit parts of my city in the distance. Middling rain or heavy rain is my preference as I ride my motorcycle. Light rain strikes the ground and the ground spits back a mist that blurs the face shield of my helmet, turning my field of vision into one metastasizing cataract.

Heavier rain beads nicely, obedient to the laws of hydrodynamics, and rolls away. Light rain mist will gather into a stray droplet, tear-like, and trickle leisurely along. These drops tend to surprise me. There have been slow-waking misty mornings where I startle and for an instant, think they are my own tears. Heavy rains are more polite, and almost never toy with my emotions.

I cut a piece of a windshield wiper and I meant to attach it to my wet-weather gloves, but I never did. I don't know where the piece is now. But I know where there are windshield wipers.

* * * *

I've not written much on ye old blog. I'd like to say I've been very busy working on the screenplay for Murk, but the agencies have blacklisted me after I Rick-Rolled the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. How did I manage it? Simple enough. I merely kidnapped his son and claimed that I was "never gonna give him up" alive if Rick didn't meet my demands.

Works every time.

Shoe of Freedom
Carry my soul with yours
Crack the pale forehead
And let all the air inside
Escape into the atmosphere
Where it might actually do some good

Given the meteoric success of the Twilight series (essentially a Harlequin Romance novel about star-crossed lovers whose conflicts are vampire-related instead of the traditional physical and substance abuse problems), I've been pitching my idea for a novel to various publishers.

Here goes: Our teenage protagonist, Moola McEverygirl, has moved from the bustling city of Tucson, Arizona, to Laketown, Minnesota to work out her father issues with her father. Moola is modestly hot girl, the kinda sorta hot that comes from being average-looking when most other peers are still hip-deep in the awkward-looking teenage phase. Moola enrolls in the local high school. She notices an attractive, muscular, guy with pale skin, dark hair, and a slightly green complexion. His name is Puddles Killington and all the girls are in love with him because he is so aloof and mysterious and vaguely described that he is easily projected upon.

Moola and Puddles are instantly attracted to each other and proceed to be extremely awkward about everything. One particularly awkward day, Moola, who is a terrible driver, loses control of the up-armored humvee her father purchased from the Army surplus store and drives it into a lake.

Suddenly, all of a sudden, and out of nowhere, Puddles appears underwater and pushes her vehicle back onto land. That's right; Puddles Killington and his family are Nessies. They moved to Minnesota from Loch Ness to live among humans and go to high school...for some reason. The Killington Family is different than other Nessies because they refuse to pose for blurry photographs.

Moola and Puddles are awkward and uncertain, but they know they are in love because it says so in the book. Puddles is much older than Moola, from a time when women couldn't vote or own land and it was still legal to beat your wife, but he and Moola have some of the same CD's and they're both in high school so they are in love.

Puddles has a hard time expressing his feelings, and the situation is made more difficult because The Council of Nessies has forbidden relationships between humans and Nessies because it is deemed too stupid. It would be like dating a very rich Furry. And sex between humans and Nessies is not forbidden, but the Council released a pamphlet warning against it because Nessies have extremely cold penises, which makes sense because their entire bodies are ice-cold and it would be weird. And also the point of vampires drinking blood was a metaphor for the relationship between men and women so when you add sex to the mix their is little point in it.

Still, cold penises are just weird. I believe the Urban Dictionary defines a chilled erection as an "ice pick", which is very difficult for most males to achieve. Urban Dictionary does not really define it as such, but it should.

What? Oh, and there are other problems. The local Minnesotan Native Americans that live on the lake have an ancient grudge against the Nessies because the native people are really...Bigfoots. They fight each other for control of territory, but neither side has ever won because Bigfoots can't live in lakes very well, and Nessies have no interest in living in the forest and eat fish anyway. Anyway, arbitrary magical blood-feud!

Then Moola becomes attracted to a local Bigfoot, because the Bigfoot represents the archetypal burly, ruggedly handsome guy that is warm-blooded and your own age, while the Nessie represents the effeminate, hip male that might possibly wear women's jeans and is given to feeling conflicted when deciding between listening to Chopin or My Chemical Romance for the next month.

The conflict of the first book, Murk, and the rest of the series, New Tide, Rip Current, and Breaking Wave, will be basically the same. Moola wants something from Puddles, Puddles can't or won't give it to her, the Bigfoot offers Moola what she wants, Moola can't choose, and Puddles family and Bigfoots fight the whole time.

At the time you the publisher decide that the series has become unprofitable, Moola will pick one or the other and live happily ever after with her magical baby, Alia the psychic daughter from the Dune series.

After all the books are written, I will re-write the first book from Puddles's point of view. I predict the book will go on record for every sentence ending with a question mark.

Thank you for your time. Please notify me immediately, and I will accept my advance in cash.

Ender and Remy purchased their first comics the other day. They loved the comic shop. Ender got a "kids" comic that had Spiderman, Iron Man, and Hulk attempting to dog-sit Cerberus, the three-headed guardian of Hades. Remy got a Speed Racer: The Next Generation or some such thing. It's a promising start, and I was much relieved when Remy put back the Veronica (from Archie fame)that he had been poring over.

Their intelligence surprises me. The concept of teaching is unraveling in my head. I don't feel I've really taught them anything, except perhaps how to swim, but they sure are doing stuff like counting and saying parts of the alphabet. I credit PBS for most of that.

I think I'll hunt down some of the old school programs. Mr. Rogers must have a hand in raising them. And Bill Nye. And I can't leave out Levar Burton.

The great intellectual explorers of my time spoke to me, the viewer, in a way no other adults were at that time. And they're still there, to speak to my nephews about science, literature, and being a good neighbor.

I still need them too. I know there is much I've forgotten.

The spicy email I wrote earned me a phone call, in which I spoke to a reasonable human being and we discussed matters far and wide. Well, almost entirely reasonable. The woman I spoke with brought up armed assaults on campuses and religiously-motivated attacks.

The letter was baited with words that throw up the blinders of ignorance for many people. My reference to Allah was cited as "threatening". This saddened me, because anybody with a passing familiarity with the Muslim faith, or even someone who has seen The 13th Warrior, knows that there is only one god, so it's absurd to say something like "God of gods" in the same breath as Allah.

She was concerned that the letter is threatening, although when I asked her to point out any specific examples of threats she was at a loss.

She told me that she had read the email to her husband over the phone and that he had demanded she forward it to him so he'd have evidence in case any harm came to her. I laughed and suggested he email me if he has any questions.

So it's making the rounds, I assume. I am disappointed she found it threatening. I conceded that there are jokes, and as a person who jokes, I am responsible if I am not funny. So not funny, I can confess up to that, if I must. The most adorable part of the conversation was when she chastised my use of swear words. She would begin to read certain phrases, falter at the swears, and then press valiantly on.

It really was cute. "I can't believe you'd put this in an email," she said.

I really enjoyed talking to her. I liked her a lot. I thanked her for her call, and when she asked me to "drop it" I said sure.

She had one other request during our talk. She told me I should use my writing powers for good.

I'm all for that, of course. But I'm a freelance do-gooder, and sometimes they're just not hiring.

In Which I Conduct a Sortie In The War of the Internets

Dear Bri,

I am surprised to hear from you in these circumstances. I believe the first and last time we met was during the Buddy Ambassador training I attended with Luis. I apologize for my poor moral standards and lowly ways. Perhaps it is a reflection of my own poor education, excluding my formative years at Mountain Pointe, of course.

I do appreciate the call my mother received from the school informing us to handle it "in the family". My mother has an incredibly easy life and I relish the terror inflicted upon her whenever a school "official", such as they are, calls her and claims that I am threatening to abort my siblings somehow. However, I am disappointed that you did not draw attention to the latent homosexual and incestuous subtext I nestled in the phrase about "selling people eggs and charging them for the price of an entire chicken" to paraphrase myself.

So thank you for frightening my mother so. She is certainly the person to call when two brothers, both adults, who see each other every day, say offensive things on the internet. Your righteous Crusade against internet depravity is a blessing to us all, and I hope that you don't rest on your laurels now that you've foiled my plans. There are so many others out there to stop, so many children suffering unspeakable sassings at the hands of those who claim to be loved ones. I applaud you, and may Allah (God of Gods) show me the mercy that you have shown me.

If you wish, I can send my disturbing comments to you first before I post them on Luis's Facebook. For example, I was thinking of saying this:

"Dear Luis, when you were in the womb I tried to abort you with one of the vacuum cleaner attachments."

I'm proud of that one, because it lacks the subtlety and sarcasm that seems to provide your administrators with so much trouble.

To summarize, I am angry to the point of sarcasm with any and all people involved in bullying my mother. She was and still is incredibly afraid that this will begin some kind of CPS witch hunt, and more than that she is genuinely cowed by the school system. I believe the whole thing is funny and a waste of your time. My mother responds with a child-like dread of going to the principal's office. It is sad for me to watch the people involved scare her like this. I love my mother, but she doesn't always understand the jive-talking of the youth of today. So when someone tells her I'm writing about harming my younger brother, she believes them. I don't think any of you (you meaning teachers/staff/students) thought of the repercussions of such an accusation. It is my suspicion that you are compelled to act upon internet "threats" because they leave such a clear trail. Physical abuse, psychological abuse, sexual abuse, and verbal abuse are notoriously difficult to prove, and even so what happens, counseling? I understand that this is a matter you deal with in your care of your students, our children and siblings, and I believe you (still meaning teachers/staff/students) are acting in what you believe to be in the best interest of Luis's education and welfare. I respect your motives.

But that doesn't mean this whole business isn't fucking retarded. (Fucking retarded meaning I don't think anyone actually read it and understood it and I would love someone to go through and explain the offensive bits.) In fact, I know they didn't understand. The only one that can understand it is Luis, because that is who the message is meant for. It was sent in an arguably public forum, and Facebook has its own protocol for handling account harassment. Not to mention Luis can actually delete unwanted comments from view. Shocking, these technologies.

I guess I'm giving you hell through the details, but that's because I am something of a bastard whenever I feel that someone is trying to censor my writing. You're allowed to not like it, certainly. Expecting me to conform to some arbitrary standards of conduct is futile.

Schools love policies, and I have yet to be shown what policy I am violating, and if so, what jurisdiction, if any, high school officials have over me. Will I not be allowed to come to the 10 year reunion? Do I get detention? No, so far all I've gotten are vaguely threatening phone calls and letters to my mother.

I get angry when anyone distresses my mother.

In writing this, and in being honest and candid and even trying to be funny (certainly debatable), I understand that I am perhaps escalating the situation. Nonetheless, I must insist that you desist or else...I'll write yo mama jokes on Luis's Facebook wall, and when you read them you'll know they're about you.

But now you have my email address. I can be reached at the same number as Luis, 602-438-1286, from 8am to 5pm which is when I am taking care of my twin nephews (the ones Luis is always talking about) and hanging out with our dog, The Noobers.

Any problems you have with me (of which now I'm sure you have many) would best be addressed to me directly. If y'all scare my moms again, I'm gonna get heated. Then, as I said, I will openly mock yo mamas until the cows come home. Because what else could I do? If people are going off their gut feelings, I'll respond the same way. I've got lots of time to waste on stuff like this. And it is a waste.

I'm sure we'll see each other again, and we should at least be civil. You know how Luis hates it when we fight.

Your rowdy scientist,

Guillermo "Memo" Lopez
Mountain Pointe Alumnus; Class of 2000
Go Pride (even though lions are terrible animals; the male has a harem, he doesn't hunt, and kills any babies that aren't his)

Pictures For Sad Children.

This comic captures many of my life views in a hilarious ways.

And I can't stop singing this: