This tidbit from Will Self, however, I have never seen in any similar list of rules or suggestions, but belongs in all of them:

Regard yourself as a small corporation of one. Take yourself off on team-building exercises (long walks). Hold a Christmas party every year at which you stand in the corner of your writing room, shouting very loudly to yourself while drinking a bottle of white wine. Then masturbate under the desk. The following day you will feel a deep and cohering sense of embarrassment.

“Ten rules for writing fiction”: Part 1 and Part 2

To whom it may concern,

I am writing to offer you this sincere advice: fire your lawyer.

I find your recent actions morally reprehensible.  Canceling prom in order to prevent one student from attending is wrong.

I find this action un-Christian.  Jesus was pretty clear about supporting the powerless, and a gay teenager is pretty powerless. I believe that when those who are responsible for helping her become a powerful and confident adult instead choose to gang up on her, Christ weeps anew.

I find your actions dangerous!  The possibility that Constance McMillen will now be targeted, emotionally and physically, is virtually guaranteed.  Should harm befall her, you and those who allowed this decision to go forward will be responsible.

But that is not what this email is about.  It is about the law.  Any first=year paralegal student could have advised you better than your current lawyer(s).  If your counsel failed to advise you against your current (disastrous) course, you should at the least fire them, and consider attempting to have them sanctioned or disbarred.

I beg you, for the sake of Ms. McMillen, her classmates, your community, and your own hope of salvation, do the following:

1) Reinstate prom (quickly, you cannot win this lawsuit).
2) Apologize (publicly, sincerely, and at great length).
3) Hire a new lawyer (one who has the strength of personality and convictions to prevent you from making bigoted, illegal policy decisions).

Sincerely,

Patrick S—

He also sent along their contact info:

Teresa McNeece — superintendent
tmcneece@itawamba.k12.ms.us
662.862.2159 ext. 14

Principal Trae Wiygul
twiygul@itawamba.k12.ms.us
662.862.3104

I wrote them a note, which I won’t post here because Pat’s is better. You could too! Or at minimum, you could also join the Facebook group supporting Constance. It’s not silly—the group has almost 300,000 fans already, and every additional one reinforces the message that not only should these administrators treat all their students with respect, but that they need to understand their role as public servants, and not arbiters of morality, and respect the limits of that role instead of trying to circumvent them.

(Side note: That link goes to Prefix, an online music publication that was asking for writers, like, a year ago, but which did not respond to my email asking to be one. I will say this much: I don’t know if I know enough about music, but my copy wouldn’t go to print with seven glaring typos. Amateur hour.)

We can’t tell if it some kind of wasps’ nest or just insulation pushing its way out. I’m leaning toward the latter, based on a couple of brief Google Images search that didn’t turn up any orange insect nests (and based on a close-up shot), but I think we’ll probably just heave the cat at it and run for cover to be on the safe side.

And then on Saturday, I located my brother and joined him for Z Systems’ first Winter Film Festival. For the most part, the 19 short movies were really impressive, and several were flat-out good. If the festival happens again next year, as it’s supposed to, I think we’re gonna make this an annual tradition. I don’t watch that many movies, in part because they’re long and expensive and often disappointing. The festival’s competition format I can get behind, though: All the shorts were around ten minutes (I think?), they had a couple of intermissions, and it was both easy to see what the directors were aiming for and easy to forgive what they didn’t succeed at.

Then we stayed up too late talking, got up too early in the morning, and I got back on the road. By the time I got home, the Oscars had already started. Kelly and I had frozen pizza that was not as good as her homemade pizza, and I went to bed relieved that Avatar didn’t win for Best Picture but still not that interested in seeing The Hurt Locker. Maybe if they make a shorter version and show it at a festival.

There are policeman romances…

There are even NASCAR romances…

But run a search over at eHarlequin.com for “astronaut” and—nothing. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THIS COUNTRY???

What are the qualities that make Stripey Francoise such an admirable feline? Herewith, I shall enumerate two hands’ worth of them. This list cannot possibly hope to be comprehensive, because her splendor is infinite and diverse; and because, from her current lodgings in Buckingham Palace—where, in a reverse Mr. Belvedere–style maneuver, she relocated after raising our family in Fargo—she continues to delight both the eye and the mind, if not the ear and the nose. But I dawdle. Onward!

10 Things That Are Great About Stripey Francoise

1. Always immediately explored behind the refrigerator when entering a new home. No one else could be trusted with a job of such import.
2. Thoroughly roamed and sniffed Fargo’s Sixth through Eighth streets along 15th Avenue, and the surrounding environs. The heart of an explorer!
3. Endured hard time in Cat Jail, which strongly resembled an upside-down laundry basket, with grace and dignity, as well as multiple other discourtesies inflicted upon her by two little boys. Saintly patience!
4. Refused to panic when accidentally shut inside the attic or a comfortable linen drawer that happened to be open just when a nap seemed most desirable. Fortitude and faith in her imminent rescue.
5. Puffed up her tail so that it was VERY BIG when confronted by an angry raccoon. Courageously, never broke eye contact as she backed into the house.
6. Panted when riding in the car, and only when riding in the car. Quite adorable!
7. Caught mouses, birds, squirrels, and rabbits, and always promptly presented them to Mom. Chipping in!
8. Looked very good in blue. Also, had brown mole on right cheek. Fabulous! And fierce!
   
9. Let bygones be bygones, after the time her nap in a paper bag with handles was abruptly and rudely interrupted, by someone (who shall go unnamed) picking up said paper bag by the handles and tornado-ing it around. Philosophical!
10. Turns 29 today. Venerable!

Here is Stripey Francoise with her fellow pets, Nip and Tuck:

She only ever tried to eat them when they got out of their cage, and, when they were moved from the cage to a terrarium with a screen on top, frequently kept them company by resting on the screen, which at times threatened to buckle under her mass. No dummy, this cat. You don’t live to be 29 if you are a dummy.

The last time I saw Stripey Francoise in person (she now communicates with me sporadically via email, but more often with my wife), she had wandered out of our backyard and into that of our neighbors to the rear. They had a blond boy who was about three, and, I learned, she would visit him frequently, so that she could be petted and otherwise gently touched. He understood instinctively, as do all Friends to Cats, that he should leave her vulnerable white underbelly alone, unless it was presented to him for scratching. I like to think it was her visits with him that reminded Stripey Francoise of all the good work she had done, helping her two young charges become men, and that such reminiscence provided the closure necessary for her to begin her travels elsewhere around the globe.

And I look forward to the day she returns to tell us everything about her time with the Queen and her journeys to other exotic locales. She will have to paint a picture with her words, as she can not take very many photographs. She has no thumbs.

The brief Wikipedia entry for the book reveals, disturbingly, that: “The 1996 republish has been edited to remove some of the scarier creatures, including the vug under the rug.” Which, the atrocious use of “republish” as a noun notwithstanding, is just saddening and maddening. The vug was scary! It was also my favorite part of the book. I mean, the whole thing falls apart without the vug.

If I had to pick a second-place Seuss, then it would become tougher, especially with the snarling and slapping and electrodes. But, tempting as it would be to choose a classic like The Cat in the Hat or Green Eggs and Ham, or a lesser-known title like Hop on Pop or Marvin K. Mooney, Will You Please Go Now?, I’d have to go with The Sneetches and Other Stories.

It was close—I’m awfully fond of Marvin K. Mooney—but Sneetches includes “Too Many Daves,” the story of Mrs. McCave, sort of a female George Foreman who had 23 sons and named them all Dave. Heavy stuff. Note also that the walking pants in “What Was I Scared Of?” are, like the vug, awesomely freaky.

Feel free to share your favorite Seuss works in the comments, or just to gripe about the devugging.