Let's Go!

Okay, she's ready to roll over at WordPress. Click on this link and follow me to the next generation of Infernal Memo! (Don't forget to sign up for home delivery.)

Love to you all. All NINE of you! Stick with me. We'll go places (as long as you never befriend me :^).

The Things You Can do With Wire...

Have a look at this guy's innovative use of his life energy. I hope you laugh like I did.

WordPress ho!

Hang on.

InfernalMemo is moving. I don't know exactly when, but it'll be soon. In the next few days, I think. Unless I get really excited and skip reading my Times Colonist tonight in favour of setting up all the trinkets, widgets and thingmabobs over at WordPress. Then it might be a matter of hours.

But come with me, will you? I adore your company. Who would I write for, if not for you?

Things I'd Like to be Able to Do

1. Dance like Britney Spears. I mean, come on. Scandals, periodic head shavings and crappy choices in life partners aside, she's amazing. Okay, I'll take more than just dancing like her. I'll take her fearless ability to give the finger to the media and the crowds who diss her at the same time that they lick her thigh-high bootheels. She is unapologetic about her persona and sticks up for herself. Most North American women can't say that much – and certainly not at 28. (I suppose I wouldn't complain if I woke up looking like her, either.)
2. Sing like Sarah McLachlan. I've tried for more than a decade now, to the amusement and chagrin of drivers all around me. But, lacking opera training, an eight-octave range and the vocal cords of an angel, I have ungraciously accepted that I will always sound like a frog in comparison. But I can still enjoy the goosebumps I get nearly every time I listen to her.
3. Write like Bill Bryson. He's observant, self-deprecating, and pee-your-pants funny: I am not, I regret to say, a discreet and fetching sleeper. Most people when they nod off look as if they could do with a blanket; I look as if I could do with medical attention. I sleep as if injected with a powerful experimental muscle relaxant... From time to time, like one of those nodding-duck toys, my head tips forward to empty a quart or so of viscous drool onto my lap, then falls back to begin loading again with a noise like a toilet cistern filling... I wake up to find that all motion within 500 feet has stopped and all children under eight are clutching their mothers' hems. It is a terrible burden to bear. It's such a rare gift to have this kind of imagery at the tips of one's fingers. And that's what good writing is all about: creating images in the reader's mind. 
4. Politick like Arlene Dickinson. She's calm under pressure and respectful of the fragile egos that surround her in the Dragon's Den. She speaks her mind authentically and is careful not to imbue her language or tone with excess emotion. (In the world of business, the poker face is usually the one that wins. Think about it: how many emotionally expressive – or excessive – business leaders do you know? We want our leaders to be strong, decisive and devoid of hysteria. Peter Mansbridge, not Don Imus.)
5. Flirt like Joan Holloway. Do I even have to elaborate?

Beware of Bad Usage

Just a few little tidbits I'd like to get off my chest.

1. It's poring, not pouring. When you open your books and settle in for a night of studying, you're poring over your studies. Not pouring. There are no liquids involved (unless you're one of those narcoleptic types who regularly falls asleep and drools on your textbooks).
2. It's amok, not amuck. Toddlers, sheep and geese – despite being filthy, germ-infested objects – do not run amuck. Running amuck is something you do if you're signed up for this muddy, sticky 5K in New York. Otherwise, it's amok. Never mind what Wikipedia says. (Looks like fun, though, doesn't it?)
3. Don't hone in on it. Honing is something you do to your spear, your public speaking skills, or your ability to get the funnybone out of the Operation guy without making his nose light up. It has nothing to do with underlining or zooming in on an idea. Hone your language.
4. It fazes me, okay? Unless you're an ice cube melting in the sun, or a gas sultrily condensing on the inside of Don Draper's windshield, you're not allowed to write: "It doesn't phase me." You heard it here first.  

There. Now I can take the bloody sticky note off my wall.