E. L. James

All posts tagged E. L. James

It would not surprise me

Published July 9, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

As you may know, I have considerable evidence to prove that my house is one of the points in the universe on which many dimensions converge. (The giant heap of mismatched socks, weird crap that appears in my house, up to and including a peach satin formal and a size 0 cheongsam,etc.) I may have found an explanation for all of the roach carcasses in my house. I sweep up at least three every day, every day there are more. I don’t know what keeps happening, but every day there is a fresh batch of corpses.

Because I will do absolutely anything to avoid studying for this infernal test, I still have several minutes before I have to take it, I was formulating a theory based on something I saw last night.  I got up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water and I saw a cockroach lurking in the kitchen. I turned around and yelled at it to get out. My calico meatloaf of a cat, Samantha, peeked her head around the corner and gave the roach a stern look (I’m assuming the look was for the roach and not me.)

This morning there was another three roach bodies.

My theory is that whenever a roach appears, my cat slips on her ninja pajamas and sneaks up on them to subdue them and snap their necks in a quick, painless death.

Now before you shake your head and murmur that surely I have lost it, no cat has that kind of power, let me drop this knowledge on you.

Tawa,Station master, leader and goddess

Tawa,Station master, leader and goddess

Station Master Tama, the calico cat who saved the Wakayama Electric Railway company by looking just so adorable in her little station master hat, has died. She was 16, which is a good run for a cat.

Tama was born in the small town of Kinokawa in the Japanese prefecture of Wakayama, one of a litter of stray cats that hung out near the Kishi Station on the Wakayama line. Tama and her siblings lived off of scraps donated by compassionate commuters until 2006, when budget cuts at the railway forced Kishi Station to lay off its human employees. Local businessman Toshiko Koyama, who had adopted Tama several years before, was elected volunteer station master and began bringing the cat with him on his duties. Tama was so popular that she was officially named Station Master of Kishi Station in 2007, a position that consisted mainly of just sitting there and looking cute as passengers passed by on their way to work. She was paid in cat food.

That’s not unusual for Japan, where cute mascots are used to sell everything. (Seriously, everything.) The thing about Station Master Tama is that people went out of their way to go see her. A lot of people, actually—according to the BBC, tourism related to Station Master Tama has brought in an estimated 1.1 billion yen (around $9 million) to the local economy, single-handedly solving the railway’s financial problems. This resulted in her promotion, first to Super Station Master, then to Operating Officer of Wakayama Electric, making her not only the first cat, but also the only female to serve in a management position at the railway company.

Now, in death, Tama has been promoted once more, receiving the title of “Honorable Eternal Stationmaster” at a Shinto funeral held at the station over the weekend. That same ceremony, which was attended by an estimated 3,000 people, also enshrined Tama as a goddess, in keeping with traditional reverence for animal deities. Wakayama Electric president Mitsunobu Kojima expressed his gratitude to Tama for helping save the company, saying, “[S]he really was doing her job. [Tama] really emerged like a savior, a goddess. It was truly an honor to have been able to work with her.” Tama’s apprentice, another calico cat named Nitama, has taken over as the new feline Station Master.”


So if a cat can become a goddess in this day and age, what’s to say that my Samantha, she the ruler of all she surveys and chief yanker of my own personal chain,  (E.L. James’ worst idea ever) could not be the source of all of kicked roaches behinds in my house?

Samantha is not a big James Spader fan.

Samantha is not a big James Spader fan.

I said W.I.P. (Wip it good!)

Published June 22, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I have a grand opportunity in September. I get to participate in one of Stage West’s Storyteller series. Stage West is a local theatre that  is recognized world wide for its programming and performances. I am to read one of my own creations. I have no idea what I’m going to do. It is my understanding that each storyteller will have about 30 mintues and that any topic is fair game.   I am thinking about reading the first chapter of Circumstance, which I swear is almost ready, except Charlotte Bronte keeps telling me I need to rework the first few pages.  I know that most people expect a little wackiness from me (I have no idea why.), so I am considering a follow up piece to “Watch My head” entitled, “I watched my head, or I had a stroke, not a lobotomy”   Which brings me to WIP. WIP Stands for Work In Progress.  This may be the perfect forum in which to work out the final pieces of my theory, in a tongue in cheek way. I realize that not everyone will find the humor in my proving the case for own on death and afterlife, and may just get me committed. However, it is possible that everything will Poof out of existence as I go on to the next stage of either purgatory, paradise, perhaps places parsiminous. ( I love alliteration in the summer!) In a world where E.L. James contiues to milk money out of a numb public of lazy readers by churning out yet another book in this ouevre of fan faction masquerading as new literature by releasing Grey. (For some reason, V.C. Andrews’ treatment of the Dollanganger family doesnt’ bother me so much. Althought I am VERY bothered by the fact that Petals on the Wind and Flowers in The Attic both have AR tests that students can take for points. And I do realize I used three dairy realated allusions in row.  I miss Blue Bell.) Anyway, yesterday, my family and I all went to see Jurassic World.

I am not a huge fan of Michael Crichton. (To be honest, his treatment of logic in his book “Sphere” literally made me hopping mad. Seriously, if you are creating your own reality, you should at least be consistent within that realty.This may be a clue for furture reference.)  But, my dad really wanted to see this as did my mother and it was Father’s Day and since my family rarely agrees on anything, it seemed like a good idea not to trot out my grievances with Mike.  I did have foreknowledge of the assumptions one would have to make prior to seeing the movie, so that was very helpful.

I enjoyed the movie  for the things it was. It was large and colorful and definitely nothing you could do on stage and on a small scale.   I thought it was very Greek in terms of entertainment. There was Hubris and Tragic Heroism all over the place. It did get a little Schmaltzy, so I guess you could say it covered the spectrum of theartre history.

But there was a moment of revelation for me. As you may recall, I had the fun and delightful expereince of a lockdown with a room full of adolescents who could not grasp the concept of danger.   In the movie (and I’m certain this isn’t a spoiler alert) there were several instances of characters who were quite casual literally in the face of scaly, drooly danger.

I think it is indicative of the state of our society as a whole.  For some reason,extreme peril doesn’t seem to compute. Or process. I know that I have the ability to distance myself from the realities of danger, but that’s because stupid crap happens to me all the time; I’m used to it.  I think in a world where combat and general violence is all too commonplace we are losing are ability to freak out.

Maybe that’s why we are so willing to five E. L. James a career.

And we’re back.

I have had the weapons all weekend and haven’t killed a single zombie!

Published January 5, 2014 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I buy myself gifts for Christmas and my birthday. This year I bought myself “Rise of Nightmares” an interactive game for my Xbox Kinect. (The Xbox itself was a birthday present to me the last big check I got from teaching and directing. I  remember thinking that it was probably going to be the last time I would be able to do that. I was right. Sometimes a rambling fool will show you the way. Wow, that was a long parenthetical.)

In the game you punch and kick Zombies and other monsters. I am really looking forward to this. I just haven’t had the time and its already about to be shut down time.  I still have enthusiasm for the week and the upcoming madness, because I have the plan.

The plan only works if we stick to the time management schedule. (This is a hypothetical schedule because I’m waiting for my dayplanner refill to come in. I think it’s in, I just have to go fetch it from the UPS office. I’m really going to vexed if it’s not here.  Oh well, the UPS office should be an adventure. Why, yes, it does take years of practice to keep up with my conversation,just ask my Amanda-Friend, she’s been following the story for over two decades.)

And now, my something interesting and brainy for today, brought to you once again by the good people at the Daily Spark:

Ernest Hemingway once remarked that All American Literature since The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn owed a great debt to that novel.  Imagine that you are a famous writer about to publish the Great American Novel. Which aspects of Twain’s book might you play with or emulate in your own book. 

First of all, Ernest Hemingway was a big ol’ drunk.  I’m sure he said a lot of things, so why are we not looking to some of those other things to pry apart literature?  Considering the amount of time he spent in Key West and Cuba, I’m sure he had many clever ways to request more ice.  I know that I find it easier to write with a big soda with lots of ice.

Second of all, even if you are a famous writer, how do you know you’re writing the Great American Novel? What constitutes fame? Stephanie Meyer is famous as is E. L. James and I don’t think either of them will crank out (dirty) anything akin to great. Maybe American as in the Twilight series and the 50 shades series are both the processed cheese food of the literary world.

Unfortunately at this stage of my writing career, such as it is, I would have to focus more on themes that are trending, which might not survive the ages but be popular enough to sustain my living expenses without my having to work three jobs, and with that in mind, I would take Finn’s exploration on the Mississippi to an alternate, futuristic plane of existence where Huck and his pal, Gym  (a robot who is his physical trainer) shoot back and forth from place to place in a pneumatic tube.

As always, if anyone thinks this is a good idea, I call dibbs.