Writer's Grove

I say it’s my birthday

Today I turn the big 4-0.

It’s on a Thursday, though, and like Arthur Dent, I never could get the hang of Thursdays. Oddly, I don’t feel like partying. I feel like I should get to work. It’s as if a wayward dungeonmaster dropped off a package this morning, and inside was the Cowl of Frickin’ Seriousness or the Cloak of Plodding Diligence. I’m wearing it now, and it has magically grafted itself onto my sternocleidomastoid. It won’t come off until somebody throws cake at me.

But nobody throws cake anymore. I haven’t seen anyone throw cake since 1976, and that’s damned peculiar if you think about it, because cake throwing is (if my nostalgia-colored memory serves) an exercise of almost unbridled joy. You get the satisfaction of throwing something messy at someone else, the entertainment value of wayward crumbs vectoring off mid-flight, and if you do it correctly there’s the pleasant chore of licking dollops of frosting off your fingers afterward. And then you duck, because once you throw cake, chances are someone will throw it back. These people in Las Vegas still throw cake, but the problem is that they’re in Las Vegas and I’m not:

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61fYJVttpEs[/youtube]

Perhaps I will be ambushed by a bakery today. One can always hope. :)

Newsy things: I will have something of mine up on Suvudu.com on December 15. It’s the beginning of several somethings that will appear on that site. There will be a short story, available for free download, though I don’t have a date yet, and there will also be a behind-the-scenes look at developing the cover for Hounded before the end of January (I think).

Today’s subversive thought: Cake Fight Club. Talk about it.