BANNED IN TEXAS!

I recently learned that Miss Smithers was one of 65 books challenged in Texas in 2006. It feels great to sit alongside a list of other worthy, though not particularly contentious, books. These include one called Dirty Cowboy. It's about a dirty cowboy who takes his annual bath, which renders him unrecognizable to his dog. His nudity is cunningly suggested but not shown. I'm gonna run out and get me that one as soon as I finish writing this blog, because not only does it feature dirty cowboys -- only my favourite kind -- it's also got dogs! A few other contenders include that perennial banned book: Forever by Judy Blume, and The Emperor's New Clothes by Hans Christian Anderson, illustrated by Michael Nuegabauer. We're in the bigs now, baby!

Apparently Mr. Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler can't get too worked up about the fact that his first Unfortunate Event book got challenged, but maybe when I've sold fifty one million books, I won't care either. Until then, I feel like it was an honor just to get challenged.

Then I realized that out of 65 hopefuls, Miss Smithers actually was one of the only 16 books that actually MADE the banned list. Well, that was more than I ever dreamed. Seriously. Especially since I made it to the top with Forever, Melvin Burgess's Doing It (a book about doing it), Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eyes and, gulp, Dirty Cowboy.

This is too much. Really. Words don't seem like enough to thank the school or teacher who orchestrated this recognition. I'm not sure if that person realizes that right now there are hundreds, if not thousands, of writers hoping to get banned in Texas. We slip our swearing and inappropriate content (sexuality, problems of any kind, cowboys who need baths) into our books and then we wait. And we hope.

I know there's more to Texas than the book banning part. There's Austin, for instance, and whatever places some of the lovely Texan librarians/book advocates I've met hail from. But in the minds of many people, especially those who live outside the red states or outside the U.S., Texas is where the real banning happens. Texas is to book banning what Hollywood is to the movie industry: it's the heartland. Mecca, even.

Now that I've been recognized in this way, I hope I can do as well with future books. To that end, I'm considering including some sort of pole routine in my school talks. And maybe hiring me a dirty cowboy to dance on it.

Banned in Texas: It does have a ring to it! Now please excuse me while I go out to get a T-shirt made up.

For more information on banned books, in Texas and elsewhere, check out Chris Crutcher's excellent and informative website. He's an author who knows a thing or two about getting banned: Chris Crutcher

The ACLU report on banned books in Texas: Banned in Texas

Second Half of the World's Longest Short Haul Story

The continuation of Short Haul: Susan and Tango's First Trailering Adventure. I'll be honest here. I have lost interest in blogging about our first outing because it was soooo three weeks ago. Since that time Mr. T. has sashayed into his new trailer at least four times and been happy to do it. So to blog about his pig-like stubbornness the first time seems a little unfair.

But to continue our adventure...

Once we finally got Mr. T. into the trailer (after a pitched battle best left to the imagination) I drove to our destination, located approximately fifteen minutes away. After approximately an hour and a half, we arrived. We pulled in and let the traffic, which was backed up almost to Parksville, go by. I'm sure everyone understood why I felt I needed to drive 4 km per hour. Precious cargo in the back! Those fingers raised at me (not index fingers, incidentally) were just drivers who had to scratch a spot between their eyes.

We had a lovely ride at Michael Lake barn, after which we wrestled Tango back into the trailer. We got home (a trip that only took an hour and fifteen minutes this time, due to my desperate desire to get away from the trailer), unloaded the horses. Then it was time to back up.

For those of you who haven't backed up a trailer, imagine trying to use a school bus to corral a herd of mink. While driving backwards. It feels totally unworkable. The truck goes one way, the #%$* trailer goes the other. People shout out directions, none of which make any sense at all: "Turn!" "Go straight!" "Left!" "Right!" "Sharper!" Slower!" If you're lucky. If you aren't lucky, you have to use your mirrors. To get a sense of how this feels, put on someone else's prescription glasses, drink a bottle of Scotch, and tie one hand behind your back and then attempt to knit a sweater.

After about twenty minutes, my politeness safety guage was beginning to fail. I had three people trying to help me but I was beyond help. The trailer was going whatever way it wanted. I was spinning the steering wheel around like it was Linda Blair's head in the Exorcist. My particular specialty seemed to be jacknifing a trailer to the left no matter which way I turned.

At the slightest suggestion I began shouting: "STOP! DON'T TELL ME WHAT WAY TO TURN! I CAN'T DO THIS! YOU AREN'T HELPING!" But faced with my total ineptitude and the increasing likelihood that I was going to have a serious accident while proceeding at relentlessly erratic 2 km per hour, my helpers couldn't stop offering advice.

"If you just..."

"NOOOOOOO! DON'T HELP! MY HEAD IS EXPLODING! I'M GOING TO DO A THELMA AND LOUISE IF THIS FRACKING TRAILER DOESN'T TURN THE WAY IT'S SUPPOSED TO RIGHT NOW!"

After an hour of this, me shrieking in frustration the whole time, I'd made it about half way to our destination, which was about thirty feet away. Slumped over the steering wheel, I admitted defeat. I handed the keys to Robyn and asked her to please park the trailer.

She did. It took about ten seconds. She didn't shout at anyone.

I left the barn as frustrated as I've ever been. The remorse arrived about half an hour later, so I spent the next morning assembling gifts for everyone I insulted and yelled at when they tried to help me back up the trailer.

Since then, we have "practice loaded" the horses several times and they've been stars. We've taken turns backing up the trailer and I haven't yelled at anyone. That's the great thing about the first trip being such a washout. There's vast room for improvement.

All You Teen Writers!

You should all check out the Harper Teen Fan Lit site!

harperteenfanlit

Here's a bit of information:

"From October 17th to December 15th, HarperCollins editors and four bestselling HarperTeen authors invite you to join thousands of fans online to collectively create an original short story—one chapter at a time.

It's easy to get involved. Just register and then follow the weekly schedule to participate. You can submit chapters, vote for your favorites, or just browse. You decide on your level of involvement."

There are already several posts containing excellent writing advice by Meg Cabot, Michelle Jaffe and others and fascinating forum discussions. There is also a contest component. (I'm sad to say Canadians aren't eligible to win, but that doesn't mean that you can't blow everyone away with your killer writing chops!)

I will be posting my advice on November the 1st. Please everyone send me wonderful advice that I can pass off as my own. Ahem.

Finally, I will finish "Short Haul: A Story of Grinding Stress on the Road" soon. Not to worry. It has a happy ending!

Short Haul

(Not to be confused with Short Bus, the new sex movie starring Sook-Yin Lee, the boundlessly smart and charming VJ/DJ/musician/actress.)

Before I begin my tale, I'd like to send out a huge thanks to Donna Kane, poet and cultural maven, who organized my trip to Dawson Creek as part of the Writing on the Ridge series that she organizes, as well as Rosaleen Ward from Hudson's Hope, and everyone in both communities for their hospitality. It was much appreciated. The Peace Country is well-named.

Okay, the story.

Not long ago, a friend who prefers to remain nameless, and I purchased a used horse trailer. We wanted the ability to take out horses to different rings and particularly, in my case, transport Tango to trails.

We found a very serviceable, if not particularly young, trailer in Langley at a reasonable price. A few weeks ago we pulled it home. And last weekend, after getting the truck ready, we prepared to take the horses on their first adventure.

We use our truck to pull the trailer, so I thought I'd get to the barn a bit early to practice my trailer driving. I hooked up the trailer and headed down the road, feeling every inch the competent horsewoman who confidently pulls a horse trailer. I mean, what else was I supposed to think?

All went beautifully until I went to turn the corner about a block away from the barn. The trailer brakes locked up as I was turning left and the truck and trailer were left marooned in the middle of the road. The damn thing was stuck.

I tried everything. Turning down the brakes, backing up, four-wheel drive. Nothing worked. Finally, I called the other people at the barn and asked them to come and help me. I was no longer the competent horse trailer-driving horse woman. I was the useless ass stuck in the middle of the road for no apparent reason.

Soon the ladies from the barn arrived and we discussed what the problem might be. We did not have any ideas. Not even faint ones. A young man in a truck stopped to help and he pointed out that I'd pulled out the emergency pin that locks up the horse trailer. He fiddled a bit and soon I was on my way again, confidence firmly dislodged and hanging by a threat from my hip pocket.

Thanks to the auspicious start to our first trip, I decided it might be best to return immediately to the barn.

There, I considered hat I might not be quite ready to actually drive horses anywhere. But I kept my concerns to myself. The worst had happened. It could only get better.

Then came time to load up the horses. Tango was first. When I bought him, he'd proved himself not just willing, but anxious, to get in the trailer. In fact, I seem to recall him LEAPING into the trailer. I guess he was enthusiastic about coming home with me. And who wouldn't be? After all, I showed strong signs even then of being a competent horse trailer driving woman.

Sadly, something shifted in Tango over the last year and a half. It turns out his feelings about traveling around in trailers have changed. A lot.

I announced to everyone that Tango was "a dream to load". That he'd walk right in. That it would mostly be a matter of slowing him down, so excited he would be to go for a trip with me captaining the ship.

And initially, it seemed my braggy-pants talk was correct. He leapt into the trailer, apparently found it wanting, and leapt right back out. Have I mentioned that Tango is a 16.3 hands high and a generous 1300 pounds? Trying to change his mind wasn't easy. It wasn't like getting your stubborn miniature pinscher dog into the car or your nervous cat into her carrying case. It was like trying to fit a giant cork into tiny bottle. He simply wouldn not go. We surrounded him on all sides. Someone inside the trailer, someone on each side of his firmly planted behind. Those in front waved treats such as apples and hay and carrots. He would creep in, as well as a 1300 pound horse can creep, grab the apple, then retreat briskly.

I tried placing each of his feet on the ramp. He allowed me to do this, then quickly unplaced them back on the ground.

"I'm sorry!" I said, losing credibility faster than Tom Cruise on Oprah. "I'm really sorry. He used to be so good!"

Tune in next time to find out the conclusion of Short Haul, a Minor Tragedy. Or at least, a Major Headache.

In lieu of an

actual post...

Norm McDonald on the Daily Show.

Norm McDonald

I have been informed...

that certain parties are rather sick of checking this blog only to find that it still reads: Keep Smithers Smithers.

What? You find my opposition to Walmart less than groundbreaking? About as fresh as a dead fish? Hmmm.

I've been frantically busy for the past several weeks and the blog has suffered accordingly.

I plan to remedy this soon, but in the meantime, here's a video clip of the funniest comic at Best of the Fest in Vancouver:

Maria Bamford

The other standout was Howard Kremer. I can't find a video clip for him that works on my computer, but he was amazing.

And since I'm all about the video clip these days, it is my hope that I'll be able to post a clip here of the Imperiled Forest. Someone has been pushing down small trees and making other preparations to mow down this lovely piece of forest in order to put up tract housing. I'd like you all to see it before it falls. Progress: you can't stop it. No one can. (Original posts about the Imperiled Forest can be found below.)

Requiem for a Small Forest

(Originally published in February)

Down the road from our house, at the tip of Long Lake, lies a small forest. Beyond it, a mall. Beyond that mall, another mall. And so on.

I've often enjoyed strolling in the forest. I've admired the few old growth trees that remain, the colonies of sword fern, the arbutus grove perched on the rocky point. I've tsk-tsk'd the remains of bush parties: broken bottles and, for some myserious reason, bits of carpet remnants. In my day we used wooden pallets. But those were simpler times.

That piece of forest is one of my favourite things about this neighborhood and this community, which is increasingly under seige to developers. The following is a photo essay (I only called it a requiem to be pretentious) of my walk this morning.




Entrance to the small patch of forest. Please note the lovely dappled light.




Walking this path is like strolling in heaven!




Prettiness: thy name is this grove!




Sigh. Not only is a forest a huge environmental boon (clean air, prevention of erosion, wildlife habitat, to name just a few), it also brings out the white and brown in a dog's coat.




Who has decorated this baby arbutus? I'm not at all sure I approve of that colour on him.




Is it just me, or is this a particularly ominous shade of pink?




H? As in "H" for homicide?




These grand old twins, let's call them "the Grandfellows" wouldn't look out of place in Cathedral Grove.




Please tell me this is a number that marks this magnificent old man (let's call him "Magniman") as untouchable? As the 4600th wonder of the world?




Ditto for Splendid Sam. (If you'd like a sense of Splendid Sam's scale, if I wrapped my arms around him, which, as a devoted tree hugger I'm tempted to do, I couldn't even get them half way around.)




Oh shit.

Stay tuned for more information on the "development" of what I will now be referring to as the Long Lake Tree Abattoir and the impending fates of the Grand Fellows, Magniman, Splendid Sam and the rest. I feel a Micheal Moore moment coming on. Where are my baseball cap and video camera?

P.S. Any tree huggers looking for work? I will provide sandwiches.

The Long Lake Imperiled Forest Ribbon Campaign

Originally published Feb. 18

I've noticed that developers are fond of ribbons. They lean strongly toward pink, orange and yellow and the fabric choices tend toward vinyl. It occurred to me that most trees look better in something a bit softer and more natural. Hence the Long Lake Imperiled Forest Ribbon Campaign.

I've started things off with a delicate soft yellow number that drapes beautifully and accentuates Molly's leggy beauty. I've also included a note from Molly (our Douglas fir model) to the developer and potential homeowners. I invite anyone interested to send along a ribbon and note for some of the hundreds of trees living in the Imperilled Forest. For those who live nearby, I encourage you to come on down, take a tour, and tie your own ribbon. (The Imperiled Forest is across from Rutherford Mall. You'll know it from the Seven Valley's Development sign at the entrance.)

Ribbons can be sent to: #808-680 Clarkson St., New Westminster, BC, Canada, V3M 6X9

All contestants in Project Runway are cordially invited to send tree fashions (I love you, Austin!), as are knitters who like trees (I'm talking about all ya'll at Knittaplease!)







Dear developer...








See, now isn't that much more attractive than the pink plastic variety?








If you want to send along a ribbon on this magnificent fellow's behalf, it will need to be many feet long!

Classifieds

(Originally published March 14)


Seeking for long term tenancy: Marbled Murrelets
(Families Welcome!)


Room to rent for Vancouver Island Marmot



Now Accepting Housing Applications from Spotted Owls


Anyone? Anyone?