Hey Dumbass: Segue doesn’t fucking mean what you think it means

grammar, writing

Hey Dumbass! Segue doesn’t fucking mean what you think it means. No, I’m not talking about segway, the stupid little two wheel vehicle that is fueled by sex life or lack there of I’m not quite sure how it works. Either way, people who ride segways either don’t have sex or have such serious game that they enjoy the added challenge of trying to look hot as shit while riding an adult big wheel. No, I’m talking about the word segue, the one that everyone uses wrong. Don’t even bother googling it, I’ll tell you what it means. Just read on.

You see segue originally meant, “An uninterrupted piece of music or film.” A seamless transition from one piece to another. It’s Italian and literally literally* means “follow.”

Sure, it seems plausible that the word could be used to describe seamless transitions in other media and works. Like moving immediately to book two of The Song of How the Court Wizard Stole My Sex Life septilogy after completing the first one.

What it does not mean, by any stretch of the imagination or gerrymandering of the lexicon is to talk about one thing and then start talking about a diff-ucking-erent topic. To talk about a different topic would be a tangent or for the politically correct crowd who are afraid of upsetting people who suck at math, “A break out conversation.”

The only way using segue to define talking about one thing and then changing topics is proper usage is if one means it ironically and doesn’t mean it at all. However, since you’re reading this and I just wrote it, neither of us are all that smart. How ironic could we possibly be?

*Yes, I meant to double up on “literally.” Due to flagrant misuse of the word literally, it’s now necessary to double up when one actually literally means what one is literally saying.

The Bird’s The Word: I Forgot The Bird

The Bird’s The Word

The bird’s the word. Sometimes as I’ve gotten older, especially with all the added stress of adulting, I forget the bird. That means that I forget a word from time to time. A word that, much like a bird, flutters off when I approach.

A few days back I had such an incident and was having trouble remembering a word. This usually isn’t that big of a deal. A momentary lapse in memory and the word shows up. If not, I just use my internal thesaurus and find an acceptable replacement or spray words like a scatter gun, until people get the point. I did the latter.

Did I Say One? Better Make It Three.

In fact, I forgot a word three times in an eight hour period. Because for some reason I felt like using, the exact same word that I could not recall, couldn’t remember to save my life, in three different scenarios. Two of those instances were about the same topic so it’s understandable. The other one was about some other random topic.

Either way, all the conversations were about taking a couple of different things and putting them together. However, putting these things together and getting them to live in harmony is a bit of challenge. I said many sentences and words – oh how the conversations were going so well. Then like a fat kid tripping over the carpet on his run to the buffet for round two of mac and cheese, the conversation fell flat and immediately stopped. Everyone looked at me, the looks on their faces said, “What’s up with fatty?”

The Eagle Has Landed

I stood there silent like the wind had been knocked out me. There was stammering. Then, in the presence of mission critical failure, the deluge of words sprayed forth. Some were close, some weren’t. Hell, I even described what I was trying to say and people started blurting out suggestions. Marry is what we landed on, but it wasn’t the right word. These things being put together weren’t in love, they had differences. It was a hollow victory, a concession, it felt flat. Like drinking water that has sat in a glass for a day.

However, it did work. The conversation moved on and completed. I went on with life and came home. Around nine that night I was preparing coffee for the morning. While I was filling the carafe at the sink, I happened to look over at the coffee machine. In that instant, like a sucker punch of knowledge – BOOM! – I saw the word in my head. It’s time in the sin bin was up and was once again back out on the ice of my vocabulary. The bird’s the word and the bird’s name was reconcile!

I wrote most of this post back in March of 2016. I forgot all about it. When I read the post, I could remember the situation, couldn’t remember the word. For my sanity, I hoped that I had written the word in the post.


Featured Image by DAMIANUM CASTRUM from Pexels 

Rules of Blogging and Nanowrimo

First rule of blogging, don’t allude to any breaks or gaps in content that have already occurred. In other words, “If you can’t say anything, don’t let people know that you failed to say anything at all.” Second, love yourself for the narcissistic,cosmically offended moral compass of piety that you are. The third? Don’t allude to any breaks or gaps of content that have already occurred.

To those that have noticed an absence of posts, sorry and thanks. It’s okay that you didn’t assume the worst and filed a missing person’s report or anything. The police didn’t need to get involved, because laziness isn’t a crime. Even though, something could have been horribly wrong. However, I’ve just been busy with life, transferring the site to a new host, and prepping for Nanowrimo. Yep, that’s right. Now I’m on the hook because I’ve mentioned it to a few people.

For those who don’t know, National Novel Writing Month, a.k.a. Nanowrimo, is a magical time that happens a few times a year, but especially every November*. During this time, typically sane people attempt to write a book in a month. That is on top of everything else they have to do and at the sacrifice of what they usually do in their day to day lives. I should call out that it’s more of a first draft these folks are aiming for. Something to whittle away at for the next year or six and turn it into an actual book.

I’ve tried one other time before, but came up short, by a lot really. Mostly because it was my first attempt and I had no outline or any real idea what I was wanting to do. Although I was having fun and didn’t think what I was working on was a dumpster fire, I could see that it was turning into a huge mess.

This year will be different! At least I hope. It’s a whole new project, one that I’ve been cooking in my head for years. Even better, I have an outline. I only hope that it’s enough of one to get me through the rough times. I’ll post when I can.

*November shot first!

Constipation: The Choice of a New Generation

My friend, Machismo Wainwright, recently suffered a bout with constipation. Now, I know you may not want to know about it. Hell, I didn’t even want to know about it. The thing is, we both know about it now, so what the hell.

Machismo simultaneously informed myself and several other infirmed souls of his constipation. I guess that’s how to tell that someone really values one as a friend. Telling someone about one’s own bowel movements, or lack thereof, is a level of trust only reached by the best and most trusted of friends. A quick gogel* search states that the only things higher than informing a friend of your constipation are, leaving in Vegas what happened between you two in Vegas and helping each other dispose of a body. Just like Jeremy Piven and Andrew McCarthy in that movie they were in! Now that’s friendship! Wait, or did one of them shoot the other one. Who cares I’m only watchin’ that movie once. Maybe twice in spirit, if I ever watch Rough Night.

Here’s the thing. I’m writing about Machismo’s constipation because I myself, was suffering from a constipation of a different nature. Not that I was suffering from Writer’s Block, it was more of a preparation thing. I needed a post and this topic just seemed to flow faster than the others. Sometimes, some things just percolate faster than others.

Along the way, I had an epiphany. I bet if Writer’s Block were called Writer’s Constipation, there would be a lot fewer MacBook toting, double chai expresso* macchiato, non-fat, extra whip drinking chodes talking about their affliction. Instead of prattling on to their, jealous of the creative lifestyle accountant friends, they’d probably keep it on the down low. Maybe read around for some inspiration. Then again, there’s always the tried and true writer’s ex-lax of adding a gun and killing everyone. Go all George R.R. Martin on that shit and drive it over a cliff.


Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go see a man about a horse. For more Machismo Wainwright check out this post.

*Yes, I meant to spell it like that.

**Yes, I meant to spell it like that as well.

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I didn’t know what to write. What Happened Next Was Amazing!

Has anyone else had it with this kind of headline? The whole – something did or didn’t happen; resulting in the worst/best thing anyone has ever seen and luckily we have video – approach to getting people to click and share links has been over used. For years now people have been beating a dead horse and now the horse is turning to glue. In other words, man beats dead horse. You will never believe what happens next! Which is a total missed chance to say, “what happens next is sticky situation.”

I am not a journalist and have never worked for a newspaper. Although I can tell you that there is an art to writing headlines that has fallen to the wayside for this cookie cutter approach. I doubt that the following scenario would have happened. Way back in 1969 in a smoke filled room permeated with the incessant punching of typewriters. An overweight and balding head editor puts down the Beefeater and pulls the cigar out of his moustached covered mouth long enough to point his hand skyward and paint the air with the words, “Man in tin can hurled into space. What happens next is one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

Got to admit, that line is better than most.

Writer’s Block

I have been doing this blogging thing for a small bit now. I have seen many posts and articles on the topic of writer’s block. The symptoms, the consequences and how to get through it. So this morning I figured, what the hell, I am going to throw my opinionated hat in the ring.

Writer’s block only exists because it has a name. It isn’t anything special that only affects writers. This type of blockage affects other kinds of creative types to: visual artists, audio artists, even mimes.

Oh, but it is also encountered by those who aren’t shoehorned into the traditionally creative lackadaisical types. Except for them, it is called Monday, not accountant’s block, like it is an affliction only the number crunchers that keep the world turning can catch. Seems kind of pretentious doesn’t it? When people would be doing anything rather than what they have been doing. When laziness catches up and just won’t let go. When the duffle bag labelled Fuches (pronounced: foo-chez) is unzipped and found to be empty. When only if one’s abode were to burst into flames could one peel themselves off the couch and put down the streaming television service. It isn’t necessarily a blockage of inspiration, it can also be an unwillingness to work.

So, do what the rest of the world does. Get behind the wheel of the old busted ass battle worn car. Lift kit and dually axle on the hind end. Rusted and bullet riddled, three toned because the passenger door and hood needed replacing. Netting on the windows. Steel windshield with viewing slots like a tank. A trunk full of guns and sorrow. Bumper stickers that inquire “How is my driving?” state “I am proud of my VES Honor Student,” and “Honk if you are horney.” Kyuss’s Blues for a Red Sun has been stuck in the tape deck for over twenty years and is queued up, right where it needs to. You know, the car you keep in the garage of your heart.

When laziness stands hulking and angry, in tighty whities and a Nixon mask. Drive directly into that son of bitch. Nets on the windows down and flapping in the breeze while you lean out the window unloading a submachine gun. While the other you – this is a metaphor after all – riding shotgun hits the button on the rocket launcher. Then says something funny about how they are riding rocket launcher instead of shotgun. And of course the part of you who subscribes to Freudian thought standing on the hood with an electric guitar slung across their back while unloading a shotgun into the air, for no reason other than to make this scene more awesome.

That is how everyone gets through a Monday. That is how one beats writer’s block. By effing doing it. So go do it!

Camp NaNoWriMo 2015: #3

I fell off the wagon this week, but I got up and have been running right behind it. Between over committing to blogging and writing for both the zweihanderplusein and my yet to be titled book I just couldn’t find enough time. Also, life just caught up with me. I looked around the house and couldn’t remember the last time I contributed to cleaning. Sure I cook, but that isn’t quite enough. My wife and I have both been so busy we haven’t spent much quality time together. What I am trying to say is, I bit off more than I could chew, then failed to chew it.

It isn’t all bad though and this isn’t one of those, I am going to take a break and reevaluate my life posts. Which sounds like something that someone who is about to say, “I am going to take a break and reevaluate my life,” would say. I can assure you I am not though.

Quite the opposite. This has been a huge month for writing. I am fifty percent of the way through my goal for Camp NaNoWriMo. Which, even though I haven’t made a lot of progress this week, is still far more than I had when I started. Hell, I even have an ending! Now it is just filling in the gaps and getting all the characters there. On top of that, Zweihanderplusein is having its most successful month! Only a handful more views and it will have surpassed and, in every other stats case, blown away the reigning most popular month. This month isn’t even done yet!

That could not happen without all of you reading and taking part in comments, likes, and shares. I really appreciate it. I thoroughly enjoy reading and writing and it is great when it can be shared with people who have the same passion and love supporting the community.

Thank You.

Camp NaNoWriMo 2015: #2

Well the first week of camp is pretty much over with. Kind of sad to see it leave, but I love to watch it go. I have been in front of my computer every single day – including my birthday – busting my hump writing. Each day, I have hit my word target and according to the website I am on track to finish on the 29th of July.

A few days before camp started I got the bright idea to crank up the post rate on my blog. I have supplied zweihanderplusein’ers with a new post each day since the 26th of last month. It’s manageable, but why the hell did I set two goals at the same time? As the saying goes; Bite off more than you can chew. Then chew it!

At this point I have 12,185 words down. Sure they are in a globulus pile that may have once resembled the idea of what my story was. If I were to start proofreading I believe I would discover some Lovecraftian truth about the universe and just wind up crying in heap on the floor. My sanity and my will to carry on like a wayward son, shattered.

Sure, I will need to go over these words a few extra times along with the 40,000ish other words I haven’t written yet. That was the plan though. Get drunk on the idea of writing a book, I mean really drunk, liquor and beer drunk. Wake up and say, that isn’t my puke drunk. Waddle hung over to the computer, start writing, and hear someone crying from somewhere else in the house drunk. Puke the words out! All over the place in any order. I can clean it up later. Turn it into something people may want to read. Just. Keep. Writing.

Camp NaNoWriMo 2015: #1

Today is the first day of camp. I don’t know how things are going to go. I have my little outline and mind map made out. I even have a few blurby bits here and there. Do I expect to hit 50,000 words. Nnnnnooooooooot rrrreeeaallllyy. I can try though right! I mean how hard can it be to write a speculative autobiography/humor bathroom reader/science fiction novel?

If you see a slowing down of posts or a complete absence, don’t be worried. I am fine, just busy working on something else on the side of what I am already working on the side with. Wish me luck! If I am not excreting pure excrement, perhaps I will throw a few choice cuts up on the blog.

Introverts and the Extroverts Who Say They Are.

  I am not an introvert. I am okay with admitting that. Pretty sure people who have met me know that already. I am mostly outgoing, boisterous, and above all else, hilarious. Alright, the last one has a tendency to not always be true, but I try. Constantly. Much to my friend’s and captive co-worker’s chagrine. I talk a lot, I generally introduce myself to people, and I almost always have a story. Huge groups of people aren’t my thing. Meeting new people all the time wears me out. Generally I don’t get in situations where I have to do that. I may not be the most extroverted of extroverts, but I am one.

 In recent years I have noticed a trend on the rise. Many of my extroverted kind – when it comes up in conversation – are saying, “I’m an introvert.” Why? It is cool to be an introvert! As introverts are perceived as being thoughtful and artsy. The cool quiet people that have their shit together and get shit done. Although those perceptions aren’t always true. I’ve known a few wallflowers that have quietly imploded from not having their shit together. I am also aware of a few silent types that, given the right conditions, can go on like a parrot vaccinated with a victrola needle. Some of them may just be really tired after.

  Introverts seem to get shit done because they aren’t necessarily seen standing around flappin’ their gums, doing funny dances that include gyrating hips, fist pumps, and squawking. They probably aren’t pulling pranks and coming up with funny nicknames to replace the funny nicknames they made up the day before. However they can do all of these things, there isn’t a hard rule. This isn’t pre-third edition Dungeons & Dragons. Your dwarf can be paladin or a mage.

  After a day of work, I am tired. I have worked hard and have extroverted. As I have gotten older I have found it more draining. I have never felt like going down to the club or local meat market. I may feel like going out to the pub, but only to be around people I already know. Mostly, I prefer to stay at home and read and write. Be in the company of my wife and dogs. I have had enough of being an extrovert for the day. I need to recharge my batteries and I do it by going into hermit mode. This does not make me an introvert, I am sure there are some hermits in the woods that would throw the best parties. Which is probably why they have been exiled in the first place.

   Due to having two categories to fall under, it seems a bit too black and white and causes some confusion. Many seem to treat it as a true or false question. Where true is tied to extrovertism and if one does one thing associated with introverts, the answer is false. Meaning that said person is an introvert. Which may not be the correct prognosis. It isn’t necessarily the average of what one does. Energy is also a factor. Whether activities and actions are invigorating or exhausting. Both answers are fine and both may not always be true at all times for the same person. As one ages, they may find that they need to recharge more than before. Which may be why they are picking more energy conserving and energizing activities. The kind that are stereotypically associated with introverts. In the end, just because one goes home tired and chooses to stay in and read doesn’t make them an introvert. It may just mean they talk too damn much!