The Holy Grail Press

Let's Try This

2008-10-07T09:18:00.000-07:00

I'm trying a work around here. What I've done is renamed the Ozarks' English blog to Holy Grail Press. It's wanting to go there anyway. Hopefully it really will go here. Then, I'll just blog from here. I may even (eventually) move some of my archived stuff over. I have to do some experimenting first.

This is Bizzare

2008-10-07T09:04:00.000-07:00

I log into the HGP site, and add a new post, and it posts it to my Ozarks' English site. Hmmm

I'm Ba-a-a-a-a-a-ck!

2008-10-07T08:44:00.000-07:00

Wow! That was really weird. One moment I was sitting at a traffic light, and the next moment I was aboard an intergalactic starcruiser, and someone named Vroont was giving me an anal probe. Really, they're not as bad as you've probably been led to believe. So after we had our cigarette, Vroont took me on a tour of the known galaxy.

Luckily, Vroont planned ahead. He had earth food. Well, sort of. It was only Moon Pies and beer. The Moon Pies ran out after about two months, so I had only beer to live on for the last year or so. And then they beemed me back. Back to earth and back to right when I left. There I was, still sitting at the traffic light. OK, I was passed out at the traffic light. Try explaining that to a judge.

No, really, I wasn't kidnapped by aliens. At least, I don't think so. But a lot has happened. Iguess the biggest thing is that it was really weird when I realized that the superintendent at the school district I was teaching at was reading my blog, along with the school board. And many board members don't have a sense of humor. Or much intelligence. But I don't work there anymore. They didn't rehire me. But then, after they didn't rehire me, I got teacher of the year. No kidding. I am so confused!

After not logging on for a while, I forgot my password. You know that tab you can click on that says "Help"? They're not fooling anybody. I was actually able to access this site through another blog I have. I have no idea how. So, after this session, if you don't see any news posts, that's probably why.

And then, I've been quite busy for the last year or so writing plays, which is a pursuit that will hopefully lead to a lot of money. OK, I'd be happy with some money. Any money. I have had some success. Brooklyn Publishers ( www.brookpub.com ) has published five of my plays, and they've accepted two more for publication. Woo Hoo!

But now, that I have some more spare time, I'm ba-a-a-a-a-a-ck. At least, until I forget the password again.

Hmmm... What to do... What to do...

2008-10-07T08:25:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I've posted anything, either on this blog or my primary blog, Holy Grail Press. For some reason, it let me on this one, but I still haven't been able to get into my HGP site.

Maybe somebody out there in blog land knows the answer... On the HGP site, since I haven't been on in a while, it wants me to update. I get to where I enter my password and it keeps looping me back. I've tried all the voodoo it suggests, like emptying my cache and checking my java, though I don't know what my coffee pot would have to do with anything. But maybe they talk.

I mean, if we could put a soul in a toaster, shouldn't we? You know, if it were possible to do that. On the assembly line, right before the outside cover is put on, slip a soul in.

But I digress. I've tried all that voodoo and I still can't get past the loop de loop. Any suggestions?

Final for English 102

2006-12-07T16:57:00.000-08:00

Hey there English fans. It's time once again for everybody's favorite: Christmas / Kwanza / Ramadan / Winter Solstice / Hanakah / Whatever the hell you're into Break. But first: Finals!

For the English 102 final, you have a choice. You can either go to the following web cite:

http://www.ghosts.org/haunted/coronado/hoteldel.html

or a web site of your own choosing. Once there you are to review the article, and then you will write an essay that answers the following questions:

1. Is this a reliable article, or could it be? Your answer should not be based on whether or not you accept the existence, or even the possibility of the existence, of ghosts. Rather, it should be based on whether or not it presents the information in a reliable format as discussed in class. You will need to give specific examples from the article (or the web page in general) to back your conclusions.

2. How do you know if it is or isn't reliable? In other words, what led you to doubt or accept its authenticity? Once again, you need specific examples.

3. Either way, what information do you need to know that it is indeed true? In other words, what specific questions would you need to have answered to believe or disbelieve the article?

If you choose a site of your own, all the above still holds true, except, of course, you're proving something other than ghosts, unless you're going to a site that also deals in ghosts, which would be a bit weird, don't you think? Maybe you could find a site on coincidences...

Important stuff to remember:

Your paper needs to be written in an essay format, with proper grammar and all that stuff. In addition, you must cite your source in correct format. That information is archived at this site and is also available in the handbook.

Your paper will be as long as it needs to be...hopefully.

Your papers can be submitted on line or in class, but all papers must be turned in no later than Sunday, December 17th, by noon to my email addresses (if not in person before then).

Those addresses are:

msoetaert@hdnet.k12.mo.us
soetaerm@otc.edu

or you can leave it below at the message site. However, the message option is not a secure site and may be viewed by anybody. And there are some pretty odd folk that read these sites.

If you have any questions, contact me!

See ya!

Conspiracy Paper

2006-08-31T13:04:00.000-07:00

The following is the example I gave for my English 102 class. They are to write a conspiracy of their own. It doesn't need to be documented. In fact, a good conspiracy makes things up. Have fun!

November 23, 2006

Tonight is the last time I won't be able to watch Ted Kopple on Nightline. Today is also the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination. Coincidence? I think not. I wouldn't be surprised that Kopple has proof he wasn't in Dallas on that November day 42 years ago. And nothing could be more convincing of his guilt. Every crook I've ever seen on TV has had an alibi. Why was Kennedy assassinated? To make good copy. And who better to help you cover it up than the entire media association. So what role does Jack Ruby play? Our crack investigative squad here at the HGP has learned that Ruby was once a paper boy. Oh how the pieces all fall in place if you just squint hard enough.
Tonight is the last time I won't be able to watch Ted Kopple on Nightline. Today is also the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination. Coincidence? I think not. I wouldn't be surprised that Kopple has proof he wasn't in Dallas on that November day 42 years ago. And nothing could be more convincing of his guilt. Every crook I've ever seen on TV has had an alibi. Why was Kennedy assassinated? To make good copy. And who better to help you cover it up than the entire media association. So what role does Jack Ruby play? Our crack investigative squad here at the HGP has learned that Ruby was once a paper boy. Oh how the pieces all fall in place if you just squint hard enough.
Tonight is the last time I won't be able to watch Ted Kopple on Nightline. Today is also the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination. Coincidence? I think not. I wouldn't be surprised that Kopple has proof he wasn't in Dallas on that November day 42 years ago. And nothing could be more convincing of his guilt. Every crook I've ever seen on TV has had an alibi. Why was Kennedy assassinated? To make good copy. And who better to help you cover it up than the entire media association. So what role does Jack Ruby play? Our crack investigative squad here at the HGP has learned that Ruby was once a paper boy. Oh how the pieces all fall in place if you just squint hard enough.
Tonight is the last time I won't be able to watch Ted Kopple on Nightline. Today is also the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination. Coincidence? I think not. I wouldn't be surprised that Kopple has proof he wasn't in Dallas on that November day 42 years ago. And nothing could be more convincing of his guilt. Every crook I've ever seen on TV has had an alibi. Why was Kennedy assassinated? To make good copy. And who better to help you cover it up than the entire media association. So what role does Jack Ruby play? Our crack investigative squad here at the HGP has learned that Ruby was once a paper boy. Oh how the pieces all fall in place if you just squint hard enough.

November 23, 2005

Tonight is the last time I won't be able to watch Ted Kopple on Nightline. Today is also the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination. Coincidence? I think not. I wouldn't be surprised that Kopple has proof he wasn't in Dallas on that November day 42 years ago. And nothing could be more convincing of his guilt. Every crook I've ever seen on TV has had an alibi. Why was Kennedy assassinated? To make good copy. And who better to help you cover it up than the entire media association. So what role does Jack Ruby play? Our crack investigative squad here at the HGP has learned that Ruby was once a paper boy. Oh how the pieces all fall in place if you just squint hard enough.

Novmeber 24, 2006

Just a scant few days ago, it was reported that Ted Kople, former Nightline host, was also the leading candidate for the second gunman in the Kennedy assassination. That may only be the tip of the ice cube floating in the intoxicating martini of power that Kople's been chugging down for years. Keep in mind what originally brought Kople out of obscurity and into the news lime light: The Iranian Hostage Crisis. If you're too young to remember that, then you're doomed for a lifetime of stupidity wherein the only thing that matters is what has happened within your own miniscule speck of existence on a planet that will only be too ready to see you go. But I digress. Close examination of photos showing the Iranian militants who took those hostages has brought a chilling discovery, and anything that's chilling in a godforsaken desert, has to be pretty damned good. Even though the militants are wearing hoods and the only thing you can see is their eyes, there is no mistaking the glint in the grainy photograph. It was Kople. Sources here at HGP have learned through extensive research (the same research that confirmed that we were spelling Kopel's name correctly), that an unnamed source at whatever TV station Kople was on told Ted, "Bring us a story, and we'll give you a show." Ted got his show. The real question is: What is Kople up to now? What could be better than your own show?

November 26, 2006

After hours of painstaking speculation, and minutes of actual research, the truth has been discovered about the Koppel Konspiracy. Ted wants no less than the White House. In 2008, the Democrat most likely to win the White House is none other than Madame Hilary. And regardless of how people may feel about the former First Lady, she stands a darn good chance of winning, simply because she's a woman. Whereas nothing could be better for right wing talk show hosts, nothing could be worse for the Empire envisioned by Carl Rove and his lackeys. Begin the Konspiracy. First of all, Chaney has to go. Nobody likes him. Nobody wants him. I mean, for Christ's sake, the man's name is "Dick." Chaney resigns because of his health. He gets indicted. Or dies. Whichever. Bush then gets to appoint a new VP. Enter Condiliza Rice, or however you spell her name. Rice becomes the next GOP candidate for President. Of course, the GOP isn't stupid enough to think a black woman will beat anybody. After all, the Republicans invented racism. Here's where things get nasty. Bush gets blown up by terrorists. Rice becomes president. She gets the sympathy vote (not to mention some pretty good publicity), and she easily beats Hilary. And why not blow up Bush? After all, what good is he going to do the GOP when there's no one handy to keep him from saying those stupid things he's bound to say? Besides, they'd save a lot of money on Secret Service. But here's the catch. When Connie becomes Prez with only a few scant months left of Bush the Younger's 2nd term, she still gets to choose a VP to replace herself. Who else than Koppel? And why Koppel? Because Koppel is a respected white man (italics added for emphasis). And besides, you know Koppel has to have enough dirt on everybody necessary to make that happen. All it would take is a phone call. Maybe show a few pictures around. Ted probably has enough dirt on God to get himself elected as Pope, even if he's not Catholic (and our sources report that he just may be). And once Koppel becomes the VP, he is just a heartbeat from the Presidency. There are plenty of stair cases in the White House. Accidents happen. Ah, Ted, how did you go so bad so quickly?

November 30, 2006

Holy Grail Press has learned from an inside source that only identifies him or herself as "That Sleazy Bastard," that Ted Koppel has converted to Catholicism. According to Catholic dogma, the only requirements to become a pope are that you are Catholic and a male. Ted is now believed to be both. With the patience of a monk, Ted only has to wait. Truly, Benedictine can't last too long. I mean, the guy looks like he's posing for his funeral picture now. And besides, accidents happen. There are lots of stairs in the Vatican. With Benedict out of the way, Ted is only a puff of smoke away from pontification, or whatever. Then Ted is only a heartbeat away from God. Ya gotta hand it to Koppel; he doesn't aim low.

First in the Family

2006-04-22T07:24:00.000-07:00

by Thea Khat

“I Pledge Allegiance to the flag of the United States of America,” myself and a few others were reciting this American creed in front of a judge. We were on our way to becoming United States citizen. The process was terribly long and it was all worth the little paper saying we were citizens. I never dreamed of ever being a citizen here, because my life was going so wrong. My father had just died of a brain aneurysm. I was preparing to go to college in the fall and I had an alien registration card saying that I was a permanent resident. That was good enough for anything. My father had mention that he wanted us to all become citizens because he watched on the news how some Mexicans were being transported back to Mexico upon entering the United States. He thought that would happen to us one day. I wanted to follow his wishes.

For one to become a citizen, they have to fill out a petition stating why they want to become a citizen. They then filled out many applications, and pay over 500 dollars to the INS. A local agency helped with this process. It was at the Catholic Center; the nun who was in charge was Sister Ruth Ann Walker. She helped me through this long process. All I had to do was the paper work and she supplied me with the questionnaire, which was asked during the testing. She told me to study these 100 questions; INS would only pick twenty to ask. She said that INS would contact me in a few months.

A few months passed, I received a letter from the INS, it stated that they received my petition and wanted me to come down for an interview. I was so excited; I had been working so hard to memorize these 100 questions, and finally I could show off my hard work. The nearest INS headquarters was in Kansas City, Missouri. I went onto Map Quest over the Internet and found directions and my mother, sister, and little brother and I were on our way. As I was driving, my mother and sister would take turns asking me questions to refresh my memory. I don't know why we had to learn all these; I don't recall ever having to know all of these in any of my social studies classes in high school.

When we arrived, there were many people in front of the INS building camping out. It looked like they were waiting to purchase N'SYNC's concert tickets. I predicted they didn't want to be late for their interview and miss out on an opportunity for another type of freedom. We were waiting for many hours, finally they called my name. My mother suggested that we pray to the great Buddha for guidance, for I would be the first to become a citizen in my family and grant my father’s wish.

The office was separated into many smaller work stations, which seemed as big as a walk in closet. The INS officer who was assigned to interview me said that he would ask three sections of questions. As I sat there waiting for him to asked me the questions, my palms wouldn't stop sweating, my mind was thinking the most bizarre thoughts on how I would disappoint my family if I didn't pass.

“State your name,” the officer asked.
“Thea Khat,” I said. Why did he ask me this question? He knew who I was.
“What is your address?” he asked.
“1500 West Grand apartment W-4,” I answered.
“When is your birth date and where were you born?” he asked.
“I was born in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, September 18, 1979,” I stated.
“Congratulations Miss. Khat, you just passed your oral test. I can tell that you can speak English well,” he said.

He then asked me to write a few sentences down. This is the part of the test that he would know if I could write in English, which I showed him with no difficulty. He said the next test I had to answer verbally. He said the questions are random for each interview.

“Who was the 17th president?” he asked.
“Andrew Johnson,” I said with a smile.
“Who wrote the Declaration of Independent?” he questioned.
“Thomas Jefferson,” I said. He followed with 18 more questions.

After the interview he told me that I had passed, missing by only one question. I had to tell him what the 1st 13 colonies. I only listed 11. I'm not mad; I had questioned some of my American friends and they couldn't tell me at all. He congratulated me, and escorted me to another room where I had my fingerprints and picture taken. He said that I should receive another letter in a few months to tell me when the Naturalization ceremony would be held. As I walked back to the waiting room, I looked at my mother who was waiting patiently. I knew her anticipation would be nerve wrecking; I wanted to play a trick on her.

“Mom, I didn't pass,” I said as I shook my head no. I saw the looked of disappointment in her face. I knew that she had her hopes up so high. She had faith, that I would pass this test.
“Thea it's ok, you have two more tries,” she said.
“Just kidding, Mom I only missed one; I didn't get all of the 13 colonies.” I burst out laughing. “I just wanted to play a joke on you.” She looked at me like a big weight had been lifting off her chest.

A few months later I took another trip to Kansas City, Missouri. I arrived as a legal permanent alien, and left an American citizen. I had granted my father’s wish, I was a citizen, and I wouldn't be deported. I felt really good that I had had the chance to make my mother proud. As I was there, in front of the judge, I was sworn in, along with the other lucky individuals who had made it. I felt proud to put my right hand over my chest.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag, of the United States Of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all,” we all said, while some had tears running down there checks.

“Congratulations, presenting the new citizens of America,” the judge announced as he dismissed us. I was now a US citizen.

A True Story

2006-04-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

by Thea Khat

Cambodia had been going through a Marxist revolution. Seven years had passed and the country which was known for the beautiful ruins and architect looked like hurricane Katrina went through and wiped everything away.

The year was 1979, millions already murdered, and thousands were being executed each day for having financial independence or simply being educated. The whole country was forced to obey under the direction of one man, Pol Pot. What was left of the population was enslaved in large prison work camps. Husbands were separated from their wives, and children over the age of six were taken and trained to kill. Meals were given by the soldiers guarding the camp. Sometimes they were only given a small bowl of rice for their twelve hours of labor.

The entire country lived in this condition. Many had plans to escape and many attempted. The souls who made it to the border of Thailand would be free. Those who were caught were killed and their bodies were displayed to make examples of.

This particular day the Kingdom of Cambodia would be at its worst time. Word spread around that the Vietnamese were advancing, and they were told to take guard.

My parents lived in those conditions for seven years, during the process my mother attempted to raise two children, both of whom died of starvation. Early in September, at eight and a half months pregnant, my mother decided that she would not lose another innocent child to this inferno. My parents had heard rumors about a safe area in Thailand, and they planned their escape. Two families, my grandparents and my older sister, left that night. They lit incense and prayed to the great Buddha for a safe journey.

For one to escape Cambodia, at this time, you had to choose un-traveled routes; cutting through jungles, climbing mountains, and crossing rivers, that were filled with dead corpses. They even had to travel though these condition without shoes. They had no food to carry since all the food was held but the soldiers. They were all very hungry and ate whatever they could find. Each step was treacherous not knowing what might be underneath your feet. Landmines were a constant danger.

The stress was almost unbearable. At eight and a half months pregnant, it’s a surprise my mother didn’t give birth or even die on the first day. Somewhere along the way she had me. She gave birth to me underneath an abandoned house. My mother had wished that she would have given birth in Thailand, but she wasn’t so lucky. Their journey had become more dangerous with the arrival of me; it would be so much harder now to stay quiet. After many miles of walking, my parents and their companions decided to choose separate paths. My grandparents took my sister, since it was too hard to carry a newborn and care for a young child. They all agreed to meet again after crossing the border.

They proceeded with their journey for they were close to a safe zone. They weren’t moving as fast, my mother was sick, and I was also sick. My mother had to cover my mouth many times to muffle out the sound, as they continued on their path. Fear shadowed their every step. They would be killed if the Cambodian army patrol saw or heard them. They crept along quietly. Both my mother and father took turns carrying me. My mother was so exhausted, and my father had cuts all over his arm from pushing the leaves and thorns away from their walk way. Finally, after they passed a small hill, they were free. Seeing the end was a huge relief, their lives would be spared. As they walked closer, they saw a flag. It was white, with two red lines intersecting each other.

“It’s the American Red Cross,” my father sighed in relief. He remembered that some were talking about the flag back in the prison camp.
“Welcome,” said one Americans who was assessing the entrance. “We have...” he paused and took his hand and brought it to his mouth, then made a chewing motion.

My parents nodded their head, yes. They then asked if there was any milk to feed their newborn baby. A Thai solder came and gave my parents and others a few bags of food. They also gave them bamboo and wood to build their home. A recorder came and asked for their names so they could register them in. The recorder told them that by registering them in, it was a chance for them to enter any country of their choice; in Northern America or Europe. They would also be provided with food, medical attention as needed and vocational training. Unimaginable opportunities for people that were living off a bowl of rice a day before leaving a country that was on the edge of hell.

Now that I’m 26 years old, I can only imagine what my parents and others went through, and doubt that I could do the same. The stories they told me were of an unbearable place and time. Their long hard journey was all worth it. By leaving Cambodia my parents saved me from their other two children’s fate. Of my two living siblings, I am the only one that was born in Cambodia in the dirt under an abandoned house. My parents are my heroes. They were survivors; they walked through danger so their children could have a free life.

Wow. And we complain when our cable goes out...

Send Me Your Stuff

2006-04-01T07:06:00.000-08:00

If you have anything you'd like to submit -- poetry, short stories, comments -- just get it to me. If I like it, I'll put it on the site. Like these two poems from Richard Long.

2 Long 2 Wait

2006-04-01T07:02:00.000-08:00

As I sit here and contemplate
If forever is 2 long 2 wait
When you meet someone that is truly great
Is it destiny or is it fate
I close my eyes and I often wonder
Do I hear the lightning and see the thunder
Are all of my thoughts so entwined
That I may never be able 2 find
The most important thing that I seek
I will never know until I speak
So as this life passes by
I can't help but 2 sometimes cry
I ask God why
and promise 2 try
But I've tried my best
So now it's time 2 rest
As I lay my hands upon my chest
Waiting 2 feel your soft caress
I close my eyes and ask one more time
Is this the answer I've been trying 2 find
I truly believe this is my fate
And forever is never 2 long 2 wait

Richard Long

The Demons from my Past

2006-04-01T06:57:00.000-08:00

I feel the demons from my past
Creeping closer every day
The echoes from an old lifestyle
That I swore to throw away
It hurts, I see it, but I pay it no mind
It's all going to crash it's just a matter of time
When it hits my pride will be gone
What was the point of being so strong?
My future depends upon an act of change
Before it hits and I'm stuck in pain
It's never too late to stand for a belief
A belief that I know I am supposed to be
A mentor, a role model, someone to look up to
Helping people that can't make it through
I took the beaten path for this very reason
It's my destiny just as summer is a season
So starting today I'm going to solw it down
Before it's too late and again I'm not around.

Richard Long

Submit Your Stuff

2006-03-18T07:07:00.000-08:00

If you're one of my students (what the hell, if you're not) and you'd like to submit your poetry, short stories, or general comments on life, living, and the cosmic whatever... well... then do it. I'll read just about anything, and I may just post it. My criteria: Whatever I happen to like. Send your stuff to: soetaerm@otc.edu

There is no deadline. There is no subject matter that's taboo. However, keep in mind that I took the political compas test ( www.politicalcompas.com ) and was more liberal than Ghandi.

This Week's Heavy Thought

2006-03-13T18:20:00.000-08:00

If the average person is an idiot, who would want common sense?

More Fun With Citations

2006-03-06T18:30:00.000-08:00

For those of us who think the MLA is nuts.

Citing email

Berry, Christi. "Las Vegas." Email to Row 3. 6 Mar. 2006.

Citing an Attachment to an email

Thomas, Joel. "joel.Doc" 05 Mar. 2006. Email to Jason Knight. 06 Mar. 2006.

Citing an interview in an online Chatroom

Maryjoe."Business and Financing".06 March 2006. Yahoochat. 06 Mar. 2006. .

Citing an author quoting another author on a website, but you do not know the quoted author’s original work

Hillerman, Tony. Qtd by Linford, Laurane D. “AOTW Author News.” Authors on the Web. 06 Mar. 06. www.authorsontheweb.com.

Citing Electronic Sources

2006-03-04T10:30:00.000-08:00

Citing an electronic source is a lot like citing a written source, although for any given electronic source several parts may be missing. Ideally, you would be able to cite all the following:

author's name (last, first)
title of work cited
date it was published (in this format -- i.e., where it's published right now)
title of web site
web address.

Eldridge, Earl. "Works Cited Sucks!" 23 Oct. 2005. Useless Information. 4 Mar. 2006 < www.moreuselesscrap.org >.

Blog sites create some problems in writing. For instance, it is really hard to indent lines. For all works cited entries, the first line is not indented, but all subsequent lines are.

All of the punctuation is critical in a works cited entry. Every comma, every period, every underline, even those little triangles, must be there. And for goodness sake, spell the stuff correctly.

The following is an example of how I would cite Mr. Eldridge in a text.

There are many scholars who claim "...citing Internet sources are about as fun as have a root canal...." (Eldridge)

Notice that there is no punctuation following the parenthesis.

If something is missing from a works cited entry, for instance, if the entry had no author, then you would just move everything over one notch as follows.

"Works Cited Sucks!" 23 Oct. 2005. Useless Information. 4 Mar. 2006. < www.moreuselesscrap.org >.

When citing it in the text of your paper, you would cite it as follows:

In addition, there are those who state "...hell is an eternity of citing sources off the Internet." (Works Cited Sucks)

In short, whatever appears on the top line to the left of each works cited entry is what you cite in text. Notice, though, that I didn't include the quotation marks in the text citation. The object of an in-text citation is to make it as unobrusive as possible (hence, the lack of punctuation). Had the title been especially long (for instance: "A Brief Discourse on the Effects of Teaching Quantum Physics on the Psyche's of Kindergarteners when Introduced Before Nap Time") I could have shortened it (A Brief Discourse). You shouldn't, however, make them too short (for instance, A).

On Internet cites, it is often hard to tell what the title of the web site is, or even to know what the dates are. If in doubt about what the title of the site is, guess. Your guess is as good as mine.

All Internet citations, regardless of how confusing, will have a minimum of three components:

The title of the web site
The date accessed
The web address

If you are uncertain of the web title, it could very well be the web address.

With the web address, sometimes they get downright silly. The address I'm looking at right now is http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=23419226&postID=114149750822561233. That's short for some. If you were citing this address, all you would need would be: .

The one thing for certain with citing the Internet is that it will never be easy. Oh yeah, that and don't forget to capitalize the word Internet. Don't ask me why, only that it's a proper noun. Personally, I wouldn't've made it a proper noun. I've seen some of those web sites, and boy howdy, there's nothing proper about them. And don't use double contractions in formal papers.

That's pretty much it.

Going to California

2006-03-04T10:11:00.000-08:00

Larry and Dave
were really bummed out with February.
It was cold and cloudy
and there was that miserable kind of wet
that just seems to be waiting for you everywhere.

So they decided to go to California.

It wasn't like either of the themhad any reason to stay anyway.
After all, Larry was waitin' tables
down at Pizza Inn,
and Dave's unemployment checks were just about to run out.

So they piled all their stuff
in the back of Larry's '76 Dodge,
and late one after they just took off.

"Wow! I can't believe we're goin' to California!"
Larry said as he reached out the window
to bang the ice off the only wiper that worked.

"In California there's all these babes
just walkin' around in string bikinis.
Just waitin' for dudes like us,"
said Dave."

Wow," Larry replied.
And they drove on."

And there's all these places to work at --
right on the beach.
Like surf shops and head shops
and places where you just hang out
and get paid to do it,"
said Dave.

"Righteous!" Larry replied.
And they drove on."

And when you cross the border
they stop every car,
and there's this guy there
whose only job is to say,
'Wow, Dude, welcome to California.
Here's your Frisbee.'
And then he gives you a real Frisbee."

"Coolness," Larry replied.
And they drove on.

They drove on all night long
and never noticed Kansas,
the darkness and their enthusiasm
hiding the fact
that there really is nothing there at all.

In the morning they were in Colorado,
but Colorado looked just like Kansas,
only worse,
because neither of them had really slept,
even though they were supposed to be taking turns driving,
and the tappans started knocking so loudly
that you could still hear them
even with the radio turned all the way up,
not like there was anything worth listening to anyway
way out in the middle of no where,
which is exactly where the car overheated.

"Wow, man," said Larry,
"I didn't think a car could overheat
in the middle of the winter."

And Dave wanted to yell,"
Of course it will, you idiot!"
But he hadn't known that either.
But he was furious just the same,
especially since he lost the coin toss
and had to walk four miles back to the last town they'd seen
just to get some water for the radiator.

And when Dave returned three-and-a-half-hours later
dragging this half-frozen can
full of rusty water
that he'd actually had to pay a deposit on
(the can, not the water),
he found that some farmer
had helped Larry get the car going
over two hours ago.
And Larry had just sat there
eating all of Dave's Twinkies
and drinking the last Dr Pepper
instead of thinking that maybe,
just maybe,
he ought to go back
and give Dave a hand with the water.

This time Dave really did call Larry an idiot.
And he continued to call Larry an idiot
all the way to Denver,
sounding all the more hateful
the more the smoke plumed out of the back of the car,
until Larry mercifully turned the car off
across the street from this discount pizza place,
where Dave went into
and got a job.

"Wow, man, I thought we were goin' to California,"
said Larry."

Screw you," said Dave
as he tied on his apron.

"But what about the babes?
What about the Frisbees?"
asked Larry.

"Get real!" said Dave,
putting his hair net on.

"What about those places on the beach
where they pay you just to hang out?
asked Larry.

"Man, I got a job!"
Dave said with a snarl.
And with that he grabbed his bus tub
and went out into the dining room
to pick garbage up off the tables.

So Larry tightened down the tappans with an old pair of pliers
and poured in this really thick, nasty stuff
that was supposed to work better than oil,
and after he'd given Dave back all his stuff,
Larry headed for California.
Without Dave.

And it did take Larry longer than he'd planned;
his car died just inside of Utah
and he had to thumb the rest of the way,
but he got there just the same.

Larry would've written Dave from California,
but he didn't have his address.
I mean, you can't very well send a letter simply addressed:
"Some Pizza Place
Denver, Colorado"
and really think that it would get there.
Now could you?

But just the same,
Larry kept this Polaroid picture
tacked up on the wall
of this place that he worked at
right down on the beach,
and he really intended to send it to Dave.

It was a picture of Larry
standing down on the beach
with his arm around this really hot babe in a string bikini,
and in his other hand was a Frisbee.

Moobert

2006-03-04T10:04:00.000-08:00

Moobert was having a hard time keeping focused.
Moobert was a cow.
Well, he wasn't really a cow,
but he wasn't exactly a bull, either.
That was one of those things that Moobert was supposed to accept.
That was one of those things that Moobert had been assured that he could accept
if he could only stay in focus.
Staying in focus supposedly would have helped Moobert accept all sorts of things,
like standing outside in the cold rain all night long trying to ignore coyotes,
or having silly tags stuck to his ears and his skin seared with red hot pokers,
or being fed all sorts of weird chemicals,
only so some day he could be taken away and chopped to bits.

Lord knows,
Moobert had tried.
He had chanted the sacred mantra for hours on end,
both forwards and backwards,
and he had listened to the words of the Old Wise One,
telling him the futility of even trying to be anything more than what he had been destined to be,
and that was a cow.
But one thought kept coming back to Moobert.
One thought would not go away.
One thought kept Moobert out of focus,
and that one thought was:
"This life is insane!"

And that thought kept at Moobert,
until one day,
right in the middle of a moo,
right when Moobert should have been focusing on his eternal oneness with all
instead of even noticing that the steadily falling sleet had no intentions of ever turning to snow,
Moobert said,
"The hell with this!"
And Moobert walked out the gate and across the grate that hadn't fooled anybody,
and he headed down the road into town.

It was there that Moobert got a job working in a factory
that made implosion devices for nuclear bombs.
Well, yeah, of course they knew he was a cow,
but they didn't care as long as he was willing to work twelve hours a day for minimum wage,
which was hardly enough to pay the rent.
Well, it was enough when he added in his evening job down at Bob's Burger World,
which also gave him enough extra to afford basic cable.
He wasn't home enough to have gotten his money's worth
out of any of the premium channels, anyway.

Day in, day out,
pretty much seven days a week;
that's what Moobert did for the rest of his life,
right up to the day he died.

Sure, Moobert could've retired
if he'd only made it another fifteen years,
and maybe then he could've spent the rest of his life off in some field somewhere,
but cows don't live nearly that long.