slain that., Been there

From a fan:

Dear SKS. (You don't mind if I call you SKS do you? Mr. Perry seems so formal.) I loved the Moonlight War. I picked it up after reading about it making the finals of SPFBO and all I can say is why self published? You mean to tell me no one wanted to get behind this? It's easily one of my favorite books of the last decade. So I though okay maybe it's a fluke. Maybe he's one of those authors who only have one good book in them. So I checked out your Darkside series and that's obviously not it. Loved, loved, LOVED them. So my question is, who did you piss off? Did you write mean things about some agent onthe bathroom walls, or sleep with a publisher's wife, or husband? Did you piss in Karma's cornflakes? Because seriously, I don't get it. If it makes you feel any better, I tricked my posse into reading your stuff and they don't get it either. Just sayn.

Me: Thanks for your *cough-leave a review-cough* kind words. It really *cough-leave a review-cough* means a lot to me. And thanks for *cough-leave a review-cough* passing my work on to your friends. Word of mouth *cough-leave a review-cough* is the only real advertising I have. You know, other than maybe leaving a review?
slain that., Been there

Notes on Paris: Part 1

You can't find Scope mouthwash in Paris, only Listerine.

There's no Pepsi in Paris, only Coke. If you're daring enough to brave a dark alley full of lepers you might find a market that sells Pepsi Max, but why bother? Btw, ordering a coke in a restaurant will average you about $12 Cnd. They bring you out an 8 oz bottle and a glass of ice, and will actually open the bottle, pour some, and set it on the table for you. For that price I'm surprised they didn't let me sniff that cap first to make sure it's acceptable.

Parisians are either the worst drivers in the world, or the best. There are no such things as lanes; if you can fit a car in the space, it's good to go. Don't leave more than an inch on either side though, or someone will squeeze a motorcycle or a scooter in there. As soon as the light turns green they all accelerated whiplash quick, dodging and weaving back and forth for position until the next light, and slam on the brakes. Pen actually banged her head off of the headrest of the seat in front of her once after a particularly sudden stop. Stops are generally used to snake your vehicle into a better position for the next start. And even though everyone drives this way, I never saw a single accident for the seven days I was in Paris. None of the cars are dented or scratched either. As a matter of fact, they're pretty much immaculate, and even the cabs are more often than not BMWs and Mercedes.

The French walk like they drive, with a cellphone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Apparently no one told them that smoking is bad for them, because they all do it, everywhere.
slain that., Been there

I'm no Mad Man but...

So I'm having lunch at Mary Brown's (shaddap you, don't judge me) and I notice an ad for the different varieties of their signature Big Mary sandwich with a caption that reads "Collect all two!"

All two? There's a word for that. It's "both". Collect both. I don't know maybe the ad man was getting paid by the word?

(I would have also accepted "Collect them both!" or "Collect the pair!)
slain that., Been there

Why no, I'm not Amish. Why do you ask?

We bought a new GPS a while back because I think the old one had developed Tourettes. (Guess which one I still get to use. Right. It’s not all bad though. I’m military, so it’s kind of like getting directions from an old army buddy.) Anyway, I hadn’t really had the opportunity to use the new one much until this weekend when we took Pen’s car to the U.S. for a bit of a holiday.

While the old GPS may have had a bit of a speech impediment, this one seems downright…pushy. Maybe it’s the upper-class British accent we’ve chosen for the voice, but I swear every direction it gives is followed by, “You bloody colonials!” Well, it is in my head, anyway. Whenever she tells me to “proceed on route” it sounds like she’s saying, “Proceed on foot,” and I end up yelling, “Not likely, you posh British tart!”

Of course then I realize I’m arguing with my GPS. Yeah, I know, silly, right? It’s not like it’s my toaster, that bread burning son of a bitch.